The Dragon Queen: Exalted
by Teutonic Knight 92
Summary: Invasion... coming from the North the Qunari have launched a full scale invasion of the Imperium. In the South Queen Cecilia continues to expand her realm while working to bring about the ancient vengenace of the Dragon Gods. Soon the Qun and the Dragon Queen will clash and the fate of the Imperium and Thedas will be decided. Book 2 of the Dragon Queen series
1. Prolouge

**Dragon Queen: Exalted**

Prologue: Revelation

_The world is a fragile thing. In an instant what was known can become strange and what was once considered impossible can become reality. In the blink of an eye dynasties can crumble and be made unto dust. Even gods fade._

The poet once said the that the legions on the march were like the massive tempests that on occasion that wracked the islands of Par Vollen and Seheron or like the quakes that sometimes shook the ground with a terrible furry. It was said that they were unstoppable, unconquerable and capable of unimaginable destruction.

Unfortunately the poet who had said those words was long dead along with the Imperium he had once described. That Tevinter Imperium had been the Imperium of ages past when the rule of the holy city of Minrathous had stretched from Par Vollen to the borders of modern day Ferelden. Now the Imperium held barely a fourth of what it once possessed, but even still it was mighty.

Tevinter's legions were still the most disciplined fighting force in Thedas capable of standing against the myriad of foes that still sought the Imperium's blood. These legions had held the line against the Quanri, and the Andrastian Kingdoms to the South.

Now once more the Imperium was threaten from the heathen Qunari from across the sea. The heathens had landed with a vast host in the Kingdom of Rivian. A kingdom considered borderline heretical by the Chantry of Orlais and the Imperial Chantry of Minrathous for its beliefs and close relations to the invaders since the last great qunari invasion an age ago. Its rulers folded without taking the field, surrendering to the heathens without a fight.

The horde of the grey skinned giants was massing their strength for an invasion of the Imperium's vital eastern provinces. All that stood between the qunari horde and the rich trade cities of Venna and Arium were the venerable Legions of one of the Imperium's finest generals, Claudius Rufus Glaba. The Warden of the East had massed his three veteran legions, the eighth, ninth and twelfth and headed east intent on halting the qunari incursion.

Three legions and their auxiliaries, thirty thousand legionaries, five thousand horse a mixture of Tevinter's own cataphract and southern knights, a thousand bowmen and a hundred war mages from the Imperium's Circle of Magi. It was the might of the east assembled to drive the heathens back from the sacred boundaries of the first men from across the sea.

Among these proud men was one Lucius Castus, the senior Tribune and second-in-command of the Ninth Legion who sat at the far right flank of the battle formation with his wing of cavalry nearly five hundred strong.

Lucius stared at the vast horse spread before them as the ox-men moved into their formation opposite the legions. The Tribune felt unease worm its way into his belly as the full scope of the warriors of the Qun became apparent. He had been of the opinion that the Eastern Legions should have held their ground forcing the Qunari to dash themselves against the walls of Venna and the other lowland fortress cities while they waited for reinforcements to arrive from the rest of the Imperium.

But the General had other things on his mind. He had decided to leave the safety of his billets to fight the Qunari on the open battlefield… to break and scatter the heathens before they could penetrate deep into the Imperium's underbelly. They would destroy the Qunari before this war truly began.

At least that was what Glaba had said before the assemblage of his officers, but in his heart Lucius had his doubts. His cousin Scipio Alexius Decimus, a senator of patrician stock had mentioned that Galba's command had been questioned among the Senate and the Plebian Assembly and he was on the verge losing his bakers within the senate. Without a victory to bolster his status the general's chances of holding onto his command was waning.

And so they were the legions arrayed for battle that should not have needed to fight. The legions were the most disciplined force in the entire world, they had to be or the Imperium would not have endured as long as it has. The legions had a long storied history of winning against more numerous foes, but those battles had been commanded by brilliant generals on the legion's terms.

This… this was the folly of a vainglorious man that brought them here this day.

To the center mass a trumpeter blew a series calls that were repeated down the lines. It was a signal he knew well… _advance en-masse_. As one the legions stepped off marching in unison as the checker board formation advanced towards their ancient foe. The legionaries marched shoulder to shoulder each man suited in a flexible suit of steel plates over chainmail, a steel helm on their head with a large rectangular shield strapped to their left arm. Each held a pilum in his right hand with a second held by a loop of leather on the back of the shield itself and a short stabbing sword called gladius sheathed on their hip.

It was the kit of the legionary which had not changed in nearly three thousand years since the first men had landed in Thedas from their lost homeland across the sea to make war upon the elves who inhabited these lands. It was a war that had reduced the elves to naught but slaves.

On the flanks of the legionaries the right and left wings of cavalry moved into a slow trot keeping pace with the advancing footmen. Unlike their Southern neighbors the Tevinters were not natural horsemen and they had no great skill or love of it. So they did something very, very Tevinter… what they could not raise themselves they bought.

The Imperium augmented what few horsemen they did produce with mercenaries and adventurers from the Southern Kingdoms. After all a knight was a man or woman raised from birth to do a single thing… and that thing was killing and while there was peace in the South many knights and chevaliers found employment elsewhere.

With a fearsome roar and a sound like a clap of thunder the legionaries threw their spears and charged slamming into the Qunari with terrible wrath. The legions were a machine and reaped a terrible toll in the front ranks of the Qunari, but then again that was to be expected. When the Qunari came to a land they found converts some willing and unwilling to serve them many capacities… including fodder for their armies.

It was this fodder, peasant elves and humans seduced by the Qun's promises; they were dying under the swords of Tevinter's legions while the true Qunari, the ox-men… the grey-skinned gaints, waited husbanding their strength for when the legions had wearied themselves. Then the Qunari horde would strike and strike hard hoping to break the legions ranks.

The Qunari themselves were far superior individual fighters to the legionaries and so that would be their stratagem. Once amongst the legions they could reap a terrible toll but until then as long as the ranks and the flanks held firm the legions would take the field.

On the right Lucius found himself in the middle of a terrible struggle as he fought against Qunari lancers mounted on their massive pale horned goat-like beasts called Aurocks brought with them from the mountains and forests of Par Vollem. Though slower than horses they were more surefooted and were more durable.

The Tribune swiped down hard his cavalryman's sword cutting a deep gouge across the lancer's naked chest while the reverse stroke took the heathen's heath from its shoulders. Even as he did so he noticed something strange amongst the wild mêlée that consumed both wings of horse. As the knights, cataphracts, and the Lancers fought the Qunari did not press the weight of their numbers, they did nothing but hold their foes at bay.

"Something's not right," Lucius whispered under his breath as his eyes scanned rapidly for what must be eluding him, what he must be missing.

In the end it was the gleaming Aquila, the golden eagle of the Legions, which cued him to the eminent danger. The eagle and the Legions were advancing hard in the Qunari center pushing them farther and farther back. No doubt sensing his much needed victory Galba was throwhing his reserves into the center… nearly all the men held in reserve if Lucius counted the standards correctly.

And then it hit him like a bucket of icy mountain water and he knew what was going to happen. The Tribune called for his Centurion Primius to take command and turned his horse sharply to the rear and with a kick of his spurs launched towards were the general and his guards commanded.

"General Galba," Lucius called, "You must halt the advance and reinforce the flanks!"

Glad in ornate armor with a cape of blood red hanging from his shoulders and sitting on a pure white Public Horse was the Warden of the East, the General Claudius Rufus Glaba. From atop his steed the general barely gave him passing glance.

"Sir the army-"

"Silence man," the General snarled, "Do your eyes fail you? Victory is ours. The ox-men are breaking and all we needed to is shatter their center and they shall flee," he turned to the trumpeter, "Signal 'full advance' and send the rest into the center. I want the heathen's back broken and then we can destroy them piecemeal."

"General," he shouted but it was too late.

In an instant the world titled and everything turned against them. The Quanri flanks struck hard, lurching forward and catching the Tevinters horsemen off step forcing them back and back until like a piece of iron that would not bend it broke.

In the same instant the retreating Qunari center found new resolve and stood firm while the flanks swept in encircling the three legions cutting off any hope of withdrawal. As the noose tightened Lucius led a dozen sorties in an attempt to find a weak spot in the Qunari lines, but each time he was beaten back and the noose tightened still. And then the legions, the pride of the Imperium broke, its iron cast discipline falling to the wayside as it became a fight for mere survival no longer victory.

XXX

"So begins the fall of the corrupt and the wicked," the Arishok of the Quanri people quoted as he saw the destruction of the legions in the East. He watched as the Sword of the Qun exterminated these ba'as who dared to deny the truths of Koslun written in the holy Qun.

The men of the Imperium were surrounded falling perfectly into the trap he had laid for them and now they were to die. Surrounded and cut off they were pressed in from all sides and harried by a constant stream of arrows and spears falling in amongst them. The Arishok had known since the moment they took his bait and became enraptured with his retreating center that he had had them.

"Still the struggle," he said in gravelly tone and glanced in the direction of the leader of the Ari.

The "Ari" the Worthy as it translated into the Common tongue were the personal Honor Guards of the Triumvirate that guided the 'People of the Book' through life and struggle. They were the fiercest warriors of the Qun and sworn to defend him with their live and avenge him in death.

"A useless pointless struggle," the grey skinned giant intoned emotionlessly, "They are beaten. Those who live will serve the needs of the Qun or they will join their companions in death."

The Arishok the Commander-in-Chief of all the military forces of the Qunari nodded slowly though he did not quite agree with his subordinate. The Arishok was the martial head of the Triumvirate was a lifelong position. Once elevated to the position he could only be dismissed by death… whether natural, on the battlefield or by his own sword.

During his younger years as a member of the Beresaad, the Qunari Vanguard, he had spent time in the South and in that time he had learned much. Most of his experience had taught in the truth of what was said in the Qun. The Southern lands were chaotic, corrupt and wasteful and lacking the light that was found in the Holy Qun.

But he had found exceptions. He had found warriors of skill, courage and honor amongst the chaff fit for only thralldom in service to the Great Truth of the Qun. These had been few, but they had taught him a respect for Man that his fellow Qunari lacked.

"They have spirit and belief," the Arishok intoned as he pointed down towards a Tevinter officer of some sorts judging by his attire cut a bloody path through several Qunari warriors. The man's sword spun and slashed as he half stumbled his way through the fight with more wild abandon than actual skill. Still he cut down Qunari regardless of the risk to himself.

"He shall be our messenger."

XXX

His arm felt like lead, but Castus still struck out catching a ox-man across the belly and spilling his guts across the blood slickened grass. Stumbling forward, his cavalryman's cloak nearly catching on a headless legionary, he thrust forward his gladius driving the steel tip into the chest of the nearest Qunari piercing the sternum, slicing the heart in two and severing the spinal column.

He withdrew his bloodied blade and glanced up and when he did he grimaced. Across the field he saw a armored figure, a head above the others and all around in painted deep arterial red markings stood the Qunari Arishok and his private guard, the Ari.

The war leader of the Qunari and his band. If he was here then this was no mere raid, this was war…a full scale invasion of the Imperium. Lucius Castus gripped his blade tighter. If the Arishok could be killed here before this continued into its bloody climax… thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, maybe even hundreds of thousands of lives could be spared the cruelty of war.

Pushing his exhausted, bruised and bloodied body forward with the ragged remains of his command, weary but determined. He cut, slashed, stabbed and killed his way through his foes with care for the cuts and gashed inflicted on his armor and his flesh. He was filled with a single purpose.

"For the Imperium and the Ninth," he cried a cry that was soon picked up by the other desperate legionaries as they threw themselves into one last desperate charge.

The men of Tevinter fell by the droves but still they pressed on driven by fear mixed with courage, hatred and most of all desperation. They were dead men, they all knew this, but their hatred drove them to make sure that their lives were not sold cheaply. And though die they did it was costing the Qunari dearly.

Before him he saw the Ari unsheathed their massive swords and advanced through the ranks of their lesser brethren eager to shed the blood of the infidel. The massive beings strode forward their serrated swords cleaving legionaries in two as they sought to cut down the last desperate surge of the Tevinter legions.

Castus blocked deflected a strike turning it aside before driving his elbow into the Qunari side. He brought his sword about but before he could his weapon was knocked from hand. The Tribune turned even as his free hand fell to his waist to grasp his dagger, but before he could react he saw a large object out of the corner of his eye and then his world black.

XXX

By the time the Tribune stirred the battle was far over. Those handfuls of legionaries who had survived the battle were gathered up under heavy guard. They would be given two choices… to either convert to the Qun or be executed. If they accepted the grand design of the Qun they would be allowed to live and serve perhaps as menial laborers or farmers working on the vast Kollacks, collective farms that fed the People, for the greater glory of the Qunari.

"Wake him," the Ariskok of the Qunari said with a flick of his wrist.

The Commander of the Ari grunted acknowledgement and delivered a viscous kick to the man's ribs. The Tribune spluttered as his eyes opened wide and he cradled his ribs and coughed up blood. The man tried to stand but two the Ari seized him and forced him to his knees.

Blood flowed from the legionary's nose and mouth. With a defiant glare the officer spat a bloody phlegm at the Arishok's feet; an act rewarded with a punishing punch to the face and a kick to the ribs that once more doubled the man over in pain.

When he was hauled back to his knee the Arishok took a knee to bring the nearly to eye level, "You do not need to fear me Tevinter… not at the moment."

"Save your words heathen," the Tribune spat, "I will not betray my oath and my god! Kill be and be done with it for nothing you can say with convince me to turn upon my brothers."

The Arishok grinned. He had heard this many times before from many different fellows and in the end the tender mercies of the Ben-Hassrath had convince many of these hardened men the error of their allegiance, "You misunderstand me Tevinter… I have no need of your soul. I have need of you to deliver a message to your Senate. "

The legionary's eyes were full of rage and hate, but he also saw a glimmer of hope within those eyes. No doubt this man had expected nothing but torture and death. "What message do you wish me to deliver?"

"Tell the senate that the Qunari have come. Seheron and Rivian are ours and even now we march as the largest host ever assembled for a single purpose. We will fall upon the Imperium like the wolf upon the sheep and your empire will crumble into dust. I the Arishok of the Qunari people and one of the Triumvirate offers you this… surrender submit the Qun and you will live. Refuse me and rivers of blood will run staining all of Thedas red in its passing."


	2. Chapter 1

**Dragon Queen: Exalted**

Chapter 1: The Wilds and the North

The Korcari Wilds, to most it meant the end of the world past which existed nothing but countless primitive, barbarian and occasionally cannibalistic tribes, witches and warlocks and all kinds of horrors. It was a place that the Tevinter Imperium at its height hadn't dared ventured into and even the Emperor Drakon the founder of the Empire of Orlais hadn't managed to subdue. Knowing that, it was not a surprising that it was the place that Cecilia Therein the Dragon Queen of Ferelden had chosen as the text target for her armies.

Five years after the conquest of Antiva and Kirkwall and three years after the birth of her son Markus Therein, Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Greater Ferelden, Cecilia had taken her army and invaded the Wilds. Like a forest fire the Queen cut forests, burned villages and forced into submission or outright exterminated entire barbarian nations that stood in her way.

Twice the Chieftain-Kings of the Chasind and Avars had raised the Wilds in rebellion and twice they had been cast down and butchered like cattle by the army of Ferelden. Wherever the Queen went Cecilia raised holdfasts and even a mighty stone castle to hold down the peoples and lands brought under her rule. After nearly six months of harsh peace the magi shaman Cirux Stone-Thrower had roused the tribes and clans to war to oust the invaders who had fallen upon their ancestral lands. Cecilia's response had been draconian sweeping across the Wilds like the blight itself until the barbarian horde was forced to at long last take the field or risk the destruction of everything they held dear.

Of course that was exactly what Cecilia had wanted. Dispersed into tiny war-bands and raiding parties the barbarians could have made themselves vanish into forests before the Fereldens could react. It would have taken years to pacify the Wilds and hunt down the barbarians. But assembled in a war horde they were vulnerable and could be put down like wild dogs. Their strength could be broken, their men of sword bearing age killed and their women and children left at the Queen's mercy.

The battlefield the two armies had assembled was named the Red River by the Fereldens, called so because it had been against this river the first rebellion had been crushed and their blood and colored the river a bloody red. It was an apt place for the Ferelden army to deploy its strength. With the river protecting one flank and a rocky crag protecting the other it neutralized the barbarians' vast numbers armed forcing them to dash themselves against the Queen's men-at-arms and knights all the while under fire from crossbowmen and elven archers.

It would be a bloody slaughter, Ser Wesley of Brightwater grinned from beneath his dragon molded obsidian colored helm as he wrapped one hand around his hand longsword and the other around the grip of his shield. The knight had been a member of the Sovereign's Order, the Queen's private Knightly Order, since the campaign into Antiva. He had performed his duties admirably serving with Ser Raymond of Giles, now Lord Commander of Upper Antiva, and had been commanded personally by the Queen for his role in the capture of Kirkwall and the capture of the Antivan Princess. It had been on Raymond's word that he had been accepted into the Cabal, the inner circle within the Order and the Queen's trusted confidants. Now he held command of the Dragonguard, the Queen's Praetorian, and a power within the Order and stood as the Queen's Sworn Sword.

Across the field the bloodthirsty barbarian horde stood eager and anxious to avenge their defeat two years previous. They had forgotten the lesson they had been taught that day. That even outnumber nearly ten-to-one the knights and men-at-arms of Ferelden clad in steel plate over mail links was far more than a match for iron and bronze swords a spears. And the discipline counted for more than sheer numbers.

Ten thousand against ten-ten thousand… those were odds that Wesely liked… there would be much chance for glory and honor this day.

XXX

From atop a small hill the Queen of Ferelden watched the barbarian horde spread out before her and her army. It was a vast horde but in the end that meant nothing. The wilders would break themselves against her men like water upon the rocks. The terrain would funnel the attackers to about two-hundred men abreast and right into the sword and spear points of her waiting knights and men-at-arms and into the honed teeth of her well prepared defenses. The barbarian's would impale themselves on sharpened stakes, caltrops and palisade walls all the while under a storm of arrows and bolts.

Her opponent the Shaman Cirux Stone-Thrower was no fool. He had led her on a merry little chase all over the Wilds, but in the end he had possessed no other choice than to meet her on the field. If he had refused his army would have melted away into nothingness as his warriors returned home to wait families they had left to prepare their harvests and ready themselves for the winter that was to come.

So in order to save his army the Shaman had been forced to take the field against a far smaller army, but an army well prepared for the battle that was to come. He had saved his army from disintegration at the hands of apathy, but he would lose it and the war in the hours to come. Cecilia glanced around taking in the sight of her army gleaming in the mid-morning sun. This was nearly the entire strength of the Order even after its expansion after the battles in Antiva and Kirkwall. As needed Cecilia had called on her vassals for extra manpower in return for lands in the newly conquered territories. The nobility were always a hungry lot, eager for new lands and small-folks to lord over.

The Queen turned to where Ser James of Highever, one of her Uncle's most loyal knights and another veteran of the Antivan conflict. He had on orders from her Uncle, the Teyrn of Highever, brought a small contingent of Highever knights and foot South to join with her. In the nearly a year and a half he had been with her the knight had found a position within her command staff.

"I believe it is time to begin Ser James," Cecilia said in an almost bored tone.

"Of course your majesty," the knight said in a clipped tone before turning around and hollering, "Make ready… release!"

When the words spilled from the knight's mouth two catapults normally used in the siege of small holdfasts fired twin stones wrapped in flaming canvas and doused in pitch and tar towards the Wilder horde. The stone flew out arching high above the field and landed right in the middle of the wildmen. As calculated it was enough to throw the horde into a violent frenzy. Cecilia watched as the barbarians streamed down into the valley heading right towards her far smaller force. As they came the very ground beneath their feet seemed to quiver and Cecilia would have sworn she could feel her armor rattling.

"Archers…," Ser James bellowed once more drawing his sword from its scabbard and holding it high over his head. Behind him crossbowmen readied their weapons, drawing the winch back before placing a steel bolt on the slide.

"Release," and with that word two hundred bolts were flung high into the air. The steel shards of death arched high before their tips angled forward and they fell amongst the savages. The solid steel easily penetrated the leather patchwork armor that most of them wore and just as easily went through the rusty iron and bronze of the war band leaders.

"Reload…," the crossbowmen reloaded, "Release," and bolts flew once more. Twice more the knight gave the commands and two more scores of bolts flew into the air before the command to fire-at-will was given.

With each salvo dozens of barbarians fell wounded or dead, but their comrades kept coming piling over their dead and trampling the living beneath their boots. Hundreds were killed, but it was insignificant next the amount that still drew breath. The barbarians flooded down into the teeth of the Ferelden trap and crashed into her lines like a tidal wave against sea shore. Though far outnumbered the armored plated Fereldans reaped a bloody tally amongst their foes slaying them down by the dozens and hundreds soaking the ground with their rich blood.

The knights and men-at-arms stood in five long ranks and when the first rank tired they would retire allowing the next rank to step up. This way the wildmen were met with fresh sword arms and kept the Queen's warriors from tiring too quickly. It was an old technique of the legion and one readily adapted to her Order. The Queen watched all this, her eyes darting across her lines for any sign of weakness or that they were wavering. If they had she had reserves of dismounted knights and men-at-arms and almost a hundred mounted knights to prop up the front. They were all ready, rearing and eager for blood.

Out the corner of her eye she saw Ser James turn in and the impeccable, posh accent of his said, "Things seem to be going well majesty, but in all I hope the Prince's horse arrives soon."

Cecilia smiled, just a small twitch of the lip, "My Prince rarely lets me down."

XXX

It was the greatest city of the face of Thedas, or so the Tevinter said. It was Minrathous the Eternal City on the Seven Hills, the home of the Senate and the Conscript Fathers, the center of the Imperial Chantry and the heart of the Imperium. At the very center of the city, but a block from Andraste's Basilica was the Senate House. The sprawling building was just about the oldest in the city built when the great conqueror Tevin first landed on these shores. In these halls the fate of the world had been decided more than once.

It was also a place of dark secrets where the blood of thousands and thousands had been spilt to sake the Imperium's lust for empire. It was an empire founded on blood and war and though it had been counted amongst the faithful of Andraste for near half-millennia in its heart of hearts it still belonged to its gods of old. And though none would admit it the Dragons were still strong here.

Beneath the streets of the ancient city ran a vast labyrinth of tunnels, sewers and chambers dug out of the dirt and rock when the very foundations of the city had been laid. A man could easily become lost and never again found in that place. If someone had been listening they would have heard a low ominous chanting filtering up from the deepest depths of the catacomb. If they had followed the chanting they would have come upon chamber, smaller than most, but far more sinister.

A stone slab was laid out with iron cuffs and chains on which a young elven female was bound bloodied and naked. Around the slab stood eight figures clad in darkened roods that concealed both sex and identity. The air above the elf was distorted as if on a sweltering day in the desert as the Veil between the mortal plane of existence and the Fade by the arcane ritual the black robes were preforming. The man positioned at the table drew a long curved knife from behind his robes as the chanting reached it horrid crescendo. He lifted the knife high in both hands in a vicious motion drove the tip into the elf's chest. The young woman screamed terribly as blood arched from her wound and like spun and twisted like a writhing sea serpent wrapping her in a crimson cocoon.

After what seemed like forever the current of blood ceased and seeped through the woman's skin leaving her a deathly white pallor. With a jagged motion she jerked upright as far as the enchanted chains would allow it to do all the while gasping for breath. Her eyes opened wide revealing a pair of crimson orbs and a mouth filled with shark like teeth.

"_You have summoned me meat_," the demonic creature said testing the hallowed silverite chains. As it spoke its face writhed as if hundreds of worms were tunneling beneath the elf's marble colored skin and its elongated serpent tongue flopped in and out of her mouth. The mage lord regarded the demon coolly and once more made to check the wards to make sure they were holding before acknowledging the entity before him. Trucking with demons was always a dangerous route. One false move could easily see a demon lay claim to a mortal's soul and or body for use in its own twisted purposes, but they also had their uses.

The chantry chose to categorize demons by the emotion they represented, pride, rage, desire and whatnot. There was a grain of truth in what they said, but the denizens of the Fade were also far more than simple derivatives of human emotion. This one, for example, was amongst the rarest… for it was an oracle. It had the ability to stare into the depths of the beyond and from the swirling currents extract small tidbits of the future, of things that might come to be.

"I have questions, questions that I desire answers to," the mage said his voice hard as he wrapped his hand tightly around the hilt of his silverite sword that was an anathema to demon-kin.

"_Speak flesh-morsel_," the demon possessed elf hissed as blood leaked from its eyes.

"I have seen the portents and the omens in the sky," the mage began, "I have seen the Holy Flame re-kindle in the Dragon Shrine… a flame not lit since the Maker imprisoned the Old Gods in the deepest of pits."

The demon crackled through ruined lips, "_Worlds shift, and time shudders, but war and change remain constant. A fallen god rises from its own ashes burning with hate and vengeance born of untold millennium… War returns."_

"War," the mage queried, "Argon, the Lord of War? But his army was defeated and he was slain in the Battle of Denerim in the Fifth Blight by the Grey Wardens. "

"_Defeated yes_," the demon gurgled, "_Defeated, but not slain…War was reborn clothed in mortal flesh. Sweet juicy flesh though the Dragon's spirit has lost none of its potency, none of its power, its knowledge nor its lust for war and conquest._"

"Reborn…," the Tevinter said in stunned awe, "reborn in mortal flesh, but who… who could…," suddenly he stopped his eyes wide as his mind processed what he had been told. He thought of the years since the Fifth Blight had ended and then he knew without a doubt of who the oracle spoke.

"_Flesh morsel knows_."

"Who is it Decimus," another mage whispered in hushed tones.

"The Therein girl… Cecilia Therein, Queen of Ferelden."

XXX

Anywhere else in the world moving five hundred mounted knights without anyone knowing would be next to impossible, but in the Wilds it was far, far easier; especially when you were escorted by a dozen elven hunters and a 'cooperative' wilder guide. He would be cooperative because Cecilia would nail his wife and children alive to a tree if Charles and his men failed to arrive on time.

Charles, second son of the Empress Celene, Prince of Orlais and Prince Consort of the Kingdom of Greater Ferelden sat upon his snow white horse clad in his gilded armor as he and its knights worked their way along a forest goat trail. The trail was tough and he'd already lost one horse when it tripped over a root and had to be put down.

Cecilia's plan like the best of plans was simple. Two days ago Cecilia had made a show of sending the bulk of her horse back toward Deepwood Castle, the great bastion of Ferelden strength in the Kocari Wilds. They had allowed themselves to be shadowed as they headed back towards the Deepwood, before a hidden contingent of elves ambushed the column's observers allowing Charles's horse to double back unnoticed.

While she held the Wilders attention Charles and the horse would slip around the hilly crags skirting both the armies and taking the barbarians in the rear pinning them against the Queen's host. It would be the battle of Red River all over again. The Wilders would be completely destroyed and with them the last strains of organized resistance to Cecilia's rule.

Charles was about to call out to the scout when the faint din of battle, the roar of embattled men, the clang of metal, and the screams of the dying drifted up to his ears. It was the unmistakable sound that a battle had begun. It took several agonizingly long minutes for the scout to led them into the pass behind the wilders and several more to move his knights into position.

"Let us go now," Ser Robert… a viscous brutal knight and Cecilia's headsman hissed from beneath his black featureless helm.

"Hold," Charles commanded, "We must wait for the whole of the horde to enter the valley before we ride. Once the horde is engaged with Cecilia's host then we attack not before."

The knight growled like a dog, but beyond that said nothing.

In the valley below the savages were dying as they hurled themselves against Cecilia's host. They were dying but they were making gains. Slowly, but surely the Queen's lines were being pushed back. But what mattered was that they were holding. That they were holding and inflicting far more punishment then they were taking.

"Form the line," Charles commanded.

His commands where obeyed as knights of Sovereign's Order, Highever, Gwaren, Redcliffe and a handful of other lords assembled in battle order. Their lances where held tightly in their gauntleted hands, while their longswords rested in their scabbards itching to be used, while others had maces and flails held by straps dangling from their saddles.

These were not the gleaming knights of song and story. Their richly colored surcoats where grimy and stained from mud, horseshit and dried blood and the once glittering plates were dulled from time in the field. The men within were just as tired and exhausted from their constant campaigning. The longest had been in the Wilds with their Queen for most of the five years of this campaign and not one had been here less than a year.

Still they were killers, professionals and the most deadly force on the modern battlefield. They were men and women trained from the time they could walk to be killers, to slaughter their enemies and the enemies of their liege lords. They were all veterans of countless battles, countless victories and they were all eager to kill the miscreants responsible for hardships they lived through. Though the savages didn't know it the battle was over from the moment the knights appeared on the horizon. Like a terrible force of nature the knights charged down the hill crashing to the rear of the horde with horrible ferocity. With a savagery on par with these barbarians the knights tore a scarlet path into their rear.

Charles struck one barbarian in the chest with his lance throwing the man ten meters with the tip still buried in his chest. Before the man had even realized he was dead Charles had his gilded blade clear of its sheath and blurring through the air. Two more wilders fell dead their head parted from their shoulders.

The gilded Prince thrust his sword high, "For Cecilia… for the Dragon of the South."

The cry was picked up by the rest of the Ferelden as the tore into barbarians. Like an injured animal the horde was stricken with a blind panic under an assault from the front and the rear. The moment Charles in his men struck from the rear Cecilia had thrown all their weight, her foot and horse forward driving the wilders onto their back foot.

And Shaman Cirux Stone-Thrower's dream of a unified wilds die in a storm of steel and blood as once more a Wilder army found themselves dashed against the Red River. And once more the river turned the color of fresh blood as the running waters became clogged with the dead and dying.

XXX

In the middle of the Ferelden camp Cecilia Therein sat on a large oak chair on a raise two step dais. Her black armor was polished to the highest sheen and with her bare sword lying flat across her knees. On the first step was the Queen's husband, the Prince of Orlais in his gilded armor that gleamed brilliantly in the mid-day sun. The Prince too had his sword drawn the tip resting of the step. On the ground flanking the dais stood Ser Wesley of Brightwater in his molded dragon armor and Ser James of Highever in the silver armor and the golden laurels.

Beyond the dais but before the assembled ranks of the Ferelden army, save those guarding the prisoners, stood six knights of the Dragonguard and their prisoner… the shaman Cirux Stone-Thrower. The shaman was dressed in the full regalia of a priest of his people. He wore a wolf skin cloak and woolen trousers though his chest was bare save the swirling indigo tattoos that denoted his prowess as a healer and shaman. His face was covered by a long drooping mustache and around his neck hung heavy golden chains.

Solemnly the prisoner marched forward and fell on his knees before the dais with the Dragonguard forming a half ring of steel behind him. Cecilia looked down the shaman whatever feelings she had hidden behind her icy visage.

"Cecilia, Queen of the Fereldish," the shaman began in broken Common, "I surrender to you my people. Make us, our women, our children your slaves but I beg of you by the Gods of the Sky and of the Earth spare our lives."

Cecilia smiled wolfishly, "You and your fellows are foresworn… how many times did your chieftains swear me friendship and fealty? How many times did I accept bread and salt at your tables and did you eat at mine? How can I trust oathbreakers?"

It was pointed question and everyone here had known it. The Wilders had sworn their loyalty many times only to later break their sworn word when it suited them. Many of them had died for those broken promises in gruesome ways. Wrapping her fingers around the bejeweled hilt of her blade Cecilia stood and took the two steps down from the dais to the ground. She placed the flat of the blade on the prisoner's neck in a motion similar to a knighting ceremony.

"Your life is forfeit Cirux Stone-Thrower, but I will spare the lives of you rabble," Cecilia said moving the blade to the side of his neck drawing a bead of red the size of a tear drop, "but treachery demands recompense. As payment I degree that the right hand of five thousand prisoners with be severed and sent to wonder through the Wilds as a warning to all those who would foreswear themselves."

XXX

It was into the halls of the Senate of Tevinter the Senator Scipio Alexius Decimus walked. A patrician of the noblest stock he had first entered the Senate at the age of twenty. His wealth, family status and his magic had allowed him entrance to the highest tiers of the senate. He had run the cursus honorum, the ladder of office first as an Aedile, quaestor and Praetor before finally becoming one of two Archons who co-ruled the Imperium. When his term had run out he had been chosen to the honored position of Censor, an advisor of the highest rank to the Archons and the Senate.

His seat was at the bottom bench closest to the twin Curule chairs from which the reigning Archons would guide the senate. Behind him and to the right sat the Conscript Fathers, the honored senators, the magisters of the Imperium. To his left sat the eight Tribunes of the Plebs, the representatives of the Plebeian assembly, the non-mage members of the Imperium's nobility who were invested with the power of veto allowing them to block any decision of the Senate.

Once all the members of the August body were situated the Senate was called to order. The senior Archon for this month stood and announced the business of the day in a booming voice that carried throughout the chamber.

"Honored Archon," Scipio called as he stood feeling the weariness in his bones that came from such old age, "With your permission I would like to address this body on the happenings with the Qunari in the East."

The Archon nodded and stamped his staff twice on the marble floor, "Of course Scipio Alexius Decimus, honored Censor. You may address the Conscript Fathers."

The aged senator stood the folds of his toga draped over his arm. The edges of his clothes were tinged in purple as befitted a man who had once led the Imperium and across his chest he wore crimson badge of a former commander of legions. His actions on the battlefield and in the Forum and won his many supporters and admirers but his success had also brought him enemies.

"Three hundred years ago we faced a similar circumstance to what we do today. From what the scouts and my young cousin say we face the largest quanri invasion to date with more and more landing in Rivian each day. We have already lost three legions to these savages and even now we may not be able to reinforce the lowlands in time. If we cannot an a fourth of our empire might be swallowed up before we can react."

"And what do you propose we do about it," Rufus Cato nasally intoned. He was man as wealthy as any here but chose to wear ruff homespun garments and drank piss flavored wine and harp on the past glories of the Imperium rather than face the future. He was a man who had never been praetor yet because of his ancestors he was granted great respect.

"With our legions dispersed as they are we are under great threat," the patrician took a deep breath, "I suggest we invoke the Treaty of Jader and ask that the Divine in the South declare an Exalted March to drive the heathen from our shores. We must marshal the strength of the North and the South against these creatures."

The Senate Hall broke out in heated argument as Decimus took his seat. Naturally Cato was against as was his block, but it seemed like they were all. The senator smiled a small hidden smile. Apparently the small fortune he had paid out in bribes and favors had been worth it. Most of the Senate was coming down on his side and more importantly none of the Tribunes of the Plebs were standing to cast their vetoes.

When it was finished and the votes had been cast his proposal found favor with the Conscript Fathers and his motion passed. Decimus stood once more, "Honored fathers of the Senate. If it pleases you I would lead this Commission to the Divine on Orlais. I have good rapport with the Empress and her court on my occasional diplomatic missions to our southern neighbors."

That too was put to vote and despite Cato's most vehement protests it was passed without much difficulty for most of the Senate had no desire to leave Minrathous and their country estates much less the Imperium itself.

And so when it was finished Scipio Alexius Decimus and century of the Praetorian Guard was tasked by the Archons and the Senate of Tevinter to travel to the Empire of Orlais and meet with the Divine in the South to procure aid against the heathen, aid in the form of an Exalted March.

XXX

_I'd like to thank everyone who read my first book and everyone who has started reading this one. Your reviews are greatly appreciated. _


	3. Chapter 2

Dragon Queen: Exalted

Chapter 2: The Calm before the Storm

Ostagar, the ancient Tevinter fortress built ages ago by at the height of the Imperium as the southernmost outpost of their vast empire, had been amongst the greatest fortresses in the entire world. Only the massive Orlesian citadel of Krak de Chevaliers stood a more imposing figure. Though over the centuries the great bastion had suffered greatly to the ravages of time and war it still stood an imposing figure towering over the landscape. Even more so now as a small army of craftsmen and stone masons swarmed like ants over the structure breathing life back into the ancient ruin.

It had been Cecilia's idea to repair the ancient fortress to keep watch over the wilds that were now a part of her kingdom. It had taken nearly five years and thousands of masons, human and dwarven, imported from all over Thedas to restore some of the former glory of Ostagar and make the castle livable once more.

As Charles, Prince Consort of Ferelden and a Royal Prince of Orlais, stood gazing from atop the central spire down towards the endless Wilds from which he had just come, he realized just what a powerful site the fortress must have been. For savages who thought a castle was a wooden hold surrounded by stakes and maybe a mote this must have seemed truly unconquerable.

If anything doubted the breathe of Cecilia Therein's power seeing this castle rising out of the mists of time to stand once more amongst the greatest edifices in Thedas would surely dissuade them otherwise. It was a symbol for Ferelden itself rising from obscurity to the heights of power. Charles wondered when Ferldens ascension would stop, if it even would stop.

"Your highness," the knight Ser James of Highever said as he came to stand next to the prince on the battlements. He stared off the tower's edge, "It is hard to believe this is the same place," he said with a sigh.

"It has changed much since we first arrived here," the Prince agreed. Truly it had, truly.

The knight of Highever tilted his head in confusion for a moment before laughing slightly, "Yes it has, but that was not what I meant," he then sighed before continuing, "I was here a long time with King Calen during the Blight. I was a squire you see for a knight of no regards other than he was sworn to the Teyrn of Highever, not the current one mind you but his father, Bryce."

"Cecilia's grandfather… Bryce Cousland," Charles said drawing the name from memory.

"Yes the same," he knight said taking a long look out over the Wilds, "At the time the knight I rode with joined with the then Lord Fergus Cousland's party scouting the wilds. We were not at the battle, thank the Maker or we surely would have perished when Loghain retreated with his host."

"Terrible," Charles said with a shake of his head, "And on the cusp of a Blight no less. What happened? How did you survive?"

The man from Highever took a long drink from his mug, "We very nearly did not. As I said we were not at the battle but out scouting in the Wilds far from Ostagar. We were ambushed badly and the knight to I was squired died in the first attack and so did Lord Fergus's squire fall. By the time we reached Ostagar it was far too late. The had been destroyed and as we ventured farther north we learned of Loghain's treachery and that whoreson Howe and murdered and betrayed Teyrn Bryce Cousland."

"A heinous and unforgivable sin in the eyes of the Maker," Charles said softly, "to murder one's liege lord. Even in Orlais we were shocked by the news. Bryce Cousland was well respected in the Imperial court. He was known as a man of great honor."

"My father used to say the same. He used to tell the story about the Battle of the River Dane when Loghain ordered all the prisoners taken in the battle killed for revenge for West Hill. He said that of all the nobles including the King and my father among them had no quandaries about killing unarmed Chevaliers. Only the Teryn of Highever refused to do such a thing telling the King that he 'would not sully his hands with the blood of unarmed prisoners,"

Ser James laughed harshly, "My father said that Loghain was furious and ordered the Teyrn to obey him or suffer a traitor's death, but the Teyrn still refused and appealed the king that he must do what his honorable even if it meant his end," the man downed a sip of ale, "eventually the king agreed. My father said that was the messure of the old Teyrn honorable to a fault."

"Do you know who Duke Kasper of Lorriane is," Charles asked and could tell that his question had thrown the other man.

When he shook his head 'no' the Prince answered, "He is the current High Constable of Orlais, the second most powerful man in the country. When Loghain betrayed King Calian and Teryn Cousland was murdered the Imperial Diet was called. There was those among the Dukes and Barons who believed that the time was right for Orlais to regain what she had lost in the rebellion. With the King dead and the most powerful Teryn in the realm slain it seemed if the Maker himself was smiling down on Orlais"

Ser James eye's hardened visibly no doubt considering what the prince had just said. In the middle of what would latter reveal itself as a true Blight the Kingdom would not have stood a chance at resisting the advancing Orlesian army. With steel in his tone he asked, "What does this have to do with this Duke Kasper?"

The smile Charles offered was fridged, "As High Constable Duke Kasper's voice carried much weight in the Diet and all suspected he would be eager to avenge himself… for see he was at the River Dane and he lost many a good friends that day because of Loghain's order."

"What did he say?"

"When asked what Orlais should do he told the Empress that they should weep for the death of Teyrn Cousland 'For Ferelden has lost a prince the likes of which the world would not see again for an age.' He said that the loss of Ferelden was a punishment for the wickedness the men of Orlais had done in that country and that in the end Bryce Cousland had more honor than every Chevalier that had gone there combined."

"He said it was because of Cousland that any sons of the Empire lived to see their homes, wives and babes again and he would not dishonor the memory of such a man by invading his country on the eve of his death or while a land was under threat from the darksapwn. He believed that Orlais should do all it could to aid Ferelden against the storm."

"I did not know this."

Charles shrugged, "In the end my mother agreed and offered Queen Anora martial aid, aide the Queen or rather her father refused."

"And the Duke?"

"My Mother sent me to squire with him and I like to think I learned much from his lessons. He is one of the greatest men in Orlais and not without reason," the Prince raised his glass, "I was honored to serve with him."

"Yes," the knight began drawling out the word, "anyhow the banquet is about to begin and I feel I would be remiss in my duties if I did not bring you as her Majesty requests your presence."

"Well let us not keep her waiting."

XXX

Val Royueax… the Imperial City, laid down by the Emperor-Saint Drakon at the foundation of the Empire of Orlais. It was a city of beauty and song filled with glorious Cathedrals and Chantries saturating the air of the capital city with melodious sound of the Chant of Light. It was a place where the arts and learning flourished and each building of and in itself was a work of architectural art.

She was a grand city with only one true rival in both beauty and power. Her rival was the far more ancient city of Minrathous, the oldest human settlement in Thedas and the very beating heart of the Tevinter Imperium the eldest of all the human powers. The streets of the city were lined with people, commoners, peasants and merchants all come to see the sight of the arriving Tevinter envoy and his guard.

Even though the Imperium and the Empire had been at peace for a hundred of years the memories of the War of Empires and the even earlier Great Schism of the Faith that saw break in the Cult Andraste into the Chantry in the South and the Orthodoxy sometimes called the Imperial Chantry in Tevinter still held tight in the minds of some. Senator Scipio Alexius Decimus had left Tevinter with a guard of two-hundred men drawn from the Palatine Guard the elite bodyguard regiment charged with the defense of the senators and the Senate Hall itself. They themselves were drawn from the Legio Praetorian the legion of battle hardened warrior responsible for the protection of the Holy City of Minrathous itself.

It was something that always made the senator chuckle when he thought of it. The Palatine Guard itself was the direct descendent of the Tevinter Chapter of the Knights of the Order of the Temple or the Templars as they more commonly known in the southern lands. Those these templars had long since given up their religious duties to take up the mantle of the Senate's guardians. Ironically the name they choose in their new role was reminiscent of the Scholae Palatinae, the temple guards of the Dragon Pantheon.

The men they brought were split into two formations; a century of Cataphracts in their gleaming scale armor and razor tipped lances and a century of Legionaries of the First Cohort in the time honored lorica segementa of the legions with their shields and blades held ready. Their cloaks and the horse hair plumes of their helms were dyes in Imperial Purple rather than the standard red of the legions once more setting them apart from their more 'regular' counterparts.

From the plush goose feather stuffed pillows Decimus watched the teaming masses with undisguised disgust. These were nothing but fodder for the powerful come to gawk at their betters. Even the nobles and lords of Orlais were nothing. The Old Gods were returning, War was already here and then they would be naught but fuel for the fire of the Great Dragons.

"Senator we have arrived," the Senator and mage lord's personal body servant said pulling the senator from his musings and stated quite obviously as the carriage came to a halt.

As it did a legionary promptly opened the door allowing the envoy of the Senate and People of the Imperium down to the cobble stone streets of Val Rouyeax. Before him climbing upwards like a mountain were the steps of the Grand Cathedral of Andraste, the Maker's greatest house in the entire world and the center of the Chantry's temporal power. At the very top of the steps near the towering bronze twin doors emblazoned with the Maker's emblem, the Flaming Sun, stood Divine Justinia II, the seven members of College of Clerics, a half dozen templars encased in silver plate and another man in a deep blue robe emblazoned with the emble of the Royal House of Orlais… the Fleur-de-lis.

With a nod he gathered his toga and he, his servant and two other Senators which had emerged from their own carriages began the climb up the Cathedral's thousand and one steps. Each he knew and able to see for himself that carved into each one of was carved a passage of the Chant of Light and if one started sat the base one would have read the entire chant by the time they reached the summit.

Decimus neither had the inclination or the desire to read the Chant. The Maker was an impotent god, his Gods were real and they were gathering strength. He would not waste his effort on the false god's lies to even read his worthless words.

"Lord Senator," the Divine called with open arms. Neither a young nor old woman her Holiness was what one could describe as handsome. Her robes were deep vermillion with the golden thread of the Maker's Sun sown into her robes. She wore a crown that added nearly a foot to his height and was inlaid with many a precious jewel so that when the light hit it at the right angle it seemed to cast a rainbow in every direction. "We welcome you in the name of the Prophet."

"And I, Prince Phillip of Orlais, welcome you in the name of Empress Celene I," the Prince said with a slight inclination has his head on which a golden circlet set, "My mother has receive word of your troubles in the North and the threat of the Quanri is one we of the House of Drakon take most seriously."

So this was Phillip, the Crown Prince of Orlais. So far the Senator was not impressed. The prince was a pudgy sort of man, indicative of one who enjoys to much fine food and drink at the expense of the of martial skills. He had once met the prince's brother when he had been serving in Lord Chatelon's Free Company in Tevinter. Charles had left an impression on the senator and he had the feeling that his brother, elder he may be, was but a pale shadow of a greater man.

"I am honored to be here your holiness, your highness," he said lying through his teeth, "on the behalf of the Senate and People of the Imperium I thank you for allowing this meeting. Trouble times fall upon the Faithful and I fear that things are about to become even more dire."

"Please my lord Senator enter and let us discuss this most troubling turn of events," the Divine said gesturing to enter the towering Grand Cathedral behind them.

XXX

The rebuilt Great Hall of the Fortress of Ostagar was filled with merry making and laughter for the first time in near a thousand years. A great roaring fire burned in the hearth and the long table were filled with knights and men-at-arms and the few Banns and high lords that went south with the queen's host.

Before the high back chair that served as her throne Cecilia stood in full armor while one of her Dragonguard held her helm. Her obsidian colored armor was the deepest of blacks, so deep one so one could lose themselves in its endless void. The plate was made of dragonbone, this was known, but what wasn't known was that it was made from the bones of the mortal, corporeal form of the Archdemon Argon. It was something the Lord of War thought amusing that her new form of flesh and blood was clothed in the bones of her former.

On her right stood her husband the Consort Prince of Ferelden and Prince of Orlais in his gleaming gilded plate. On her left stood the captain of her Dragonguard, Ser Wesley in his back plate and snarling dragon helm.

The Dragon Queen of Ferelden stood with her blade drawn and the tip resting on the shoulder of a kneeling man, "Rise Ser Edward of South Reach. For your valor and service I anoint you Bann of the Southwood and confirm you and your heirs its holdings and incomes."

The new bann rose bowing once more before the Queen and once more promising loyalty and fealty to Cecilia and her heir. Turning he was greeted with cheers his peers in the crowd for many a knight landless or otherwise had been made a lord this eve. Numerous Bannorns had been carved out of the territory conquered in the Wilds.

Though promising to be naught but a difficult holding it was beyond what most of them could have achieved otherwise being the third or fourth sons of various nobles or even the sworn swords of other greater nobles. These were men who had lived by the skill of their sword and lance only separated from the commoners by the writ of nobility they carried.

The Queen's Steward, a balding twig of a man named Bartholomew, whose only reteaming trait was his skill with numbers, his loyalty to the throne s and complete and utter lack of morality presented the new Bann with a oaken box lined with velvet nestling his patent as the Bann of Southwood and a brass baton inlaid with swirling dragons as a symbol of his new lordship.

The elder batons issued by pervious Monarchs would be inlaid with those lord's heraldry allowing fellow nobles to see which lords had been anointed in what Age and by whom. The oldest family's like the House of Cousland bore batons with the seals of the Sivler Knight Calenhad the Great. The youngest families of nobility bore her own mark.

Taking the timber box as if it was a scared relic the newly raised Bann bowed his head once more before stepping down from the dais and back into the crowd. The Queen looked out over the assemblage, "My friends I thank you for your service to expand the glory of out Kingdom. We have tread were no one, not even the Mage Lords of Tevinter and the Emperor Drakon have tread. But before we part ways in everlasting glory I have one more piece of business to attend too. Ser James of Highever come forward."

The knight from Highever did just that and knelt at the first step of the dais.

Cecilia looked down at him with a small tight smile before turning back to her prince Charles who was also grinning. As she had expected the knight had no idea of what was coming. Turning back she drew her sword and rested it on the man's shoulder.

"Ser James you have served me faithfully these past years and have served by uncle and House Cousland for many years before this. As reward for this service and in recognition of the abilities you have demonstrated I name you Arl of Ostagar and defender of the South."

The man's eyes went wide as saucers, "Majesty I…I thank…"

"And in return do you swear fealty to me and my heirs and to my house from now until the breaking of the world. Do you swear to serve me in war and peace, answering my summons to arms when I call and governing your land in the name of the House of Calenhad as befitting your new office?"

"I do majesty by the Maker I swear this," the knight said solemnly.

"Rise Ser James of Highever. For your valor and service I anoint you Arl of Ostagar and confirm you and heirs its holdings and incomes."

XXX

Ave Imperium!"

It was an ancient battle cry that millions of soldiers of the Tevinter Imperium had bellowed over the centuries and many had died with the cry upon their lips. It was a cry that the Tribune Lucius Castus and nearly two dozen cavalrymen gave as they charged the Quanri supply caravan.

The Tevinter Tribune held his sword high over his head as his cavalry squadron fell upon the heathen's like a pack of wolves upon a flock of fattened sheep. His blade flashed silver in the moon-light night and a Qunari fell clutching a blood weeping throat. It was a scene repeated as the horsemen killed both Qunari and their Viddathari converts, with sword and lance. Though the warriors of the Qun were caught grossly unawares the victory was not without cost.

One of the horsemen was torn from his mount as a Qunari speared him through the guts and hurled him to the ground. Another was struck by a crossbow bolt and toppled from his mount in with a crash of steel and a cry of pain.

Lucius pulled on the reigns of his steed bring it left so he could slash at an elven convert, cleaving deep into the elf's head before tearing it free and slashing at another separating the pointed eared former's slave's head from its shoulders.

With warning he felt pain flare in his shoulder as a Qunari throwing spear glazed off his armor knocking him from his mount. He saw the ground rushing up to meet him and throughout his arms to lessen his fall as he hit the ground. He rolled to avoid a powerful slash that shook the ground where he had just been and would have surely split him in two.

Reaching to his belt he pulled a dagger even knowing how futile of an effort it would be against the massive horned giant. The giant raised it savage looking axe over his head, but before he could deliver the final blow a lance embedded itself in the Qunari's chest. As the Qunari fell back clutching at the wooden shaft the size of a man's arm embedded in its chest as blood bubbled up around the wound.

Lucius looked up at the cavalryman who saved, a centurian with a horizontal crest of blood red resting atop his helm. Pulling himself to his feet the tribune found his sword and said, "You have my thanks."

"You are most welcome sir," Centurion Seeruis said and even though his face was hidden Lucius knew the bastard was smiling.

"Let us finish this," the Military Tribune snarled as he stood.

The fighting was short but brutal and when the last true Quanri fell the ex-slaves and paupers who made up the bulk of the Qunari conscripts threw down their weapons and cried for mercy. The Tribune looked down on his new prisoners. As he did he saw that most were branded, bearing their slave marks on their hands or faces. He felt his heart harden, how many of these wretches that slain their masters before swearing themselves to the Qun. How much innocent blood had been shed when they fled to their new masters?

Lucius had seen more than his fair share of burnt and massacred towns destroyed when they refused to yield to the Qun or when the slaves and lower classes had risen against their betters. After the defeat of General Glaba and his legions and his report to the Senate, Lucius had volunteered to lead a hundred men east out of the Castra Acheron. The Acheron, the great fortress in the east and kin to mighty Ostagar in the South that stood watch over the River Styx, last great road block to the heartland of the Imperium and Minrathous itself.

He had led his squadron out of the ancient fortification and in the dead of night forded the swift moving river in small barges. Thankfully the mouth of the great river which emptied into the Nocen Sea was still under the control of the Imperious Fleet and mighty galley's armed with onagers and ballistae patrolled the waters bound and determined not to let anything cross.

On landing on the opposite bank his men and slipped the Qunari patrols to ravage the Qunari rear, harassing supply lines and causing all around havoc for the heathen invaders. He had some very, very close calls, but so far he'd managed to avoid any confrontation that would result in the destruction of his squadron. It meant his men were hungry, tired and filthy but they were alive the X, the XI, and the XII legions could not say as much. They were alive and they were killing Qunari.

"Distribute any supplies you can find, burn everything else!"

XXX

In Ostagar down at the very foundations of the ancient fortification was a place in the Tevinter tongue meant the 'pit'. Currently the dungeon was home to but a single prisoner, the shaman chieftain of the barbarian wldman Crixus, the Stone-Thrower.

Marching through the corridor Ser Wesley captain of the Dragonguard of the Sovereign's Order passed the twin knights of the Dragonguard standing watch over the sole prisoner in the entire dungeon. The knights saluted their captain as he passed and he returned their salutes thumping his fist on the breastplate of his obsidian armor.

The shaman looked up through a messy tangle of hair. The leader of the barbarian rebellion was chained hand and foot to the dirty floor of his cell with only enough slack to make it to the chamber pot and back. He was filthy and defeated a long cry from the man who had raised a hundred thousand swords to defend the vast Wilds from invaders. And yet even in chains and in defeat he still possessed a silent strength that made him a formidable opponent.

"Knight," the shaman called as Wesley turned to leave, "I must have words with you."

The knight frowned, his hand drifting down to his sword as he turned back to the prisoner, "Speak."

The prisoner stood drawing close to the edge of the cell his hands wrapping around the bars, "Knight you are a skilled warrior and a man of honor… this I can tell, but the one you serve is not worthy of your loyalty."

"Cecilia is a great leader of men and beyond that she is my Queen," Ser Wesley responded drawing his blade from its oiled sheath his voice taken on a careful tone, "I need no other reasons for serving her."

"You fall to understand what your Queen is. She is one of the Great Serpents, the deceivers of men, the elder gods of the dark times who sought to enslave the world," the shaman said hurriedly his eyes alight with passion. "The spirits have spoken to me. Evil forces gather their strength… I… I sought to defeat her myself," the man continued shamefully, "I thought that I could stop her but I failed."

Ser Wesley, Captain of the Dragonguard, a sworn sword of the Crown of Ferelden merely laughed a sound that he hadn't heard from himself for a long while. It was a sound that caused the guards to enter with their blades drawn. The knight waved them off even as he sheathed his own weapon and turned back to the shaman with a cold twisted smirk.

"She is Argon, the Dragon God of War. Yes I know this," he said as he pushed back the sleeve of his mail coat reveling at the bare flesh of his forearm. He brought it to his face as if to kiss the flesh but instead he hissed a single word in a draconic tongue and gritted his teeth knowing what was to come. The skin on the underside of his foreman shifted and writhed as a snarling dragon in the color of blood and then vanished as quickly as it appeared.

"We the Dragonguard are the heralds of the new age touched by war herself."

XXX

The city was called Venna and she was amongst eldest cities in all Thedas. Founded mere years after Minrathous it was a grand city of near a half a million souls. It was rich in trade and history and it had never fallen to the advances of the Prophets's armies, the Darkspwan swarm, the might of the Chantry in the South and the Qunari. And those who defended the great city as meager as they were swore that it never fell while they still defended it.

The Arishok stood on a small hill surrounded by his Ari bodyguards why watching the city he would soon take. Vast camps were set to house his warriors as the siege wore on. Below in the camps hammers rang out of as siege equipment was being constructed under the careful eyes of the craftsmen of the Arigena. It was punctuated the thunderous bellowing of cannonade as they fire upon the adamant walls of Venna.

The stone and steel spheres were launched from the mouths of the great tubes of steel propelled by the secret qunari power called gaatlok. The balls slammed into the adamant walls of Venna with terrible power.

Unfortunately for the Arishok the walls held even as they were fired by the cannonades. The ancient walls unlike the walls over other cities had been built by the most powerful mage lords in the Imperium with secrets long since lost. The walls of the cities of Rivian had fallen against the power of the gaatlok these walls of adamant held in the face of Qunari fury.

As the day wore on the Arishok realized that the walls of this city would have to be taken in a fury bodies, blood and steel. He would have to carry the walls not blow through them as he had done so many other times. The Arishok cursed the foul sorcery of the cost in lives for such an endeavor would be great and though many would rejoice to give their lives in the service of the Holy Qun he would be less pleased. For he realized that every warrior he lost here was one more that he could not throw against the Castra Acheron and Minrathos itself.

For the war leader of the Qunari knew that though the loss of three legions was devastating to the morale and pride of the Imperium they would still be capable of resistance. Their armies while smaller were still strong enough to mean that this war was not over and it would not end until he took Minrathous, that monument to corruption and burnt it the ground.

"Ready the warriors," he hissed raising his head to where the Great Light hung in this sky, "We attack at nightfall."

"We hear and obey Arishok."

XXX

The tallest tower in the ancient fortification of Ostagar was called the Tower of Ishal. It was the heart of the fortification, the keep, as such things were more commonly known. If the rest of the fortress fell, however unlikely that was to happen, it would take but a handful to men to make the tower all but impregnable. Upon moving into the citadel Cecilia had claimed Ishal as her own taking the two topmost chambers for herself as sleeping chambers and study, respectively. The rest of the tower served as garrison for the Knights of the Sovereign's Order and the Dragonguard.

In her office the Queen of Ferelden sat studying the reports of her captains and the news of the realm. Even this far south she was still Queen and there were judgments that even her regent could not make alone. It was tiresome, but it must be done.

"You work too hard love," the accented voice of her husband called.

Cecilia smiled slyly as she turned in her chair, "And what would you suggest husband?"

It was still a word that struck Cecilia oddly. Her prince was a brave man and handsome as men went. He was warrior and a man of great skill at arms who had committed great feats of valor. He was also useful in her plans and for good or for ill the father of her child. That fact he would one day outlive his usefulness and on that day… well she was not sure what would happen to him then but she was sure that it would way heavy on her heart.

She would also be lying if she said she did not find their time together pleasurable. In her own way she supposed she did care for him though perhaps not in the way he cared for her. He had also given her something very precious… he had given her a son through which her mortal line could continue and through which her vengeance could take form.

He crossed the distance and she stood. He placed her hands upon her face and drew her into a passionate kiss that seemed to last an eternity. When they separated she looked up upon him with a suggestive smile, "This I can do."

They came together once more, hands wondering and lips searching all the while maneuvering towards the winding stair that lead to their chambers. Before they could reach even the first step there came a firm knock upon the oaken door.

Cecilia growled sounding more like a dragon from which she took her heraldry than a mortal woman as she separated from her prince.

"Ignore them," Charles whispered.

"I cannot," she hissed back.

The ritual used at their induction ceremony bound the knights of the Dragonguard to her in such a way that allowed her glimmers into their minds. She could feel the urgency in their thoughts and more to the fact they knew that she would flay them alive and feed their entrails to her war hounds if they interrupted her without merit.

Straightening her robes she separated from her prince and made her way towards the door. Reaching out she undid the lock and pulled upon it causing it to swing open upon its hinges. Before her in the ante chamber two of her Dragonguard stood solemnly, a terrifying visage in their obsidian armor and dragon visage helm. Between them was a man wearing the emblem of her Order and the blue sash of courier.

Cecilia stepped into the ante-chamber and the knights saluted and the courier knelt in reverence, "Majesty," he said stuttering slightly in a tone she recognized as not being native Ferelden, "Apologies for the disturbance, but I fear this news cannot wait."

He reached down and drew from his rider's saddle a parchment sealed in wax.

Taking the letter Cecilia studied the seal. It was red wax formed in the image of a dragon devouring a crow. Interesting, the Queen mused, Ser Raymond of Giles, Lord Commander of Upper Antiva. She dismissed the courier with orders to see him well fed and bedded before turning back to the etter in hand as she headed back towards her study.

The position of Lord Commander of the Sovereign's Order was a unique title with the Kingdom of Greater Ferelden. As it was their existed only two at present. One was Ser Roland of Hel who ruled over the Teyrnir of Gwaren in her name as its last Teyrn had proved himself faithless, and the second was the author of this letter, Ser Raymond of Giles who ruled the recently established Teynir of Upper Antiva.

Though they exercised most of the powers of a Teyrn their rule was not hereditary, they were appointed and dismissed at the Queen's leisure. In peace they would lay judgment and settle disputes between nobles and commoners alike. The would keep the Queen's peace and enforce her justice, collect taxes and see to it that the nobility maintained their levy's in case of war. However one thing they could not due without her permission was to call their vassals to arms. Apart from the garrison of the Sovereign's Own they maintained to enforce the peace they could not muster a war host without her express permission.

Pealing back the wax Cecilia unfolded the letter and began to read.

_To her Majesty Cecilia Therein, Queen of Ferelden, Teyrna of Gwaren and Upper Antiva, Lord Protector of Brandel's Reach, Conqueror of Crows, etc, etc…_

_Majesty, I find it unfortunately that I need write you but the North is not well. As you may or may not have heard by now the Qunari have landed a great host of many, many thousands in Rivian casting away what illusion of sovereignty existed there and launched an invasion of the Imperium's Easter Province. _

_To counter three legions and their auxiliaries under the command of General Claudius Rufus Glaba marched against them. They were beaten and slaughtered all most to the last man and the Qunari have advanced into the Imperium conquering Odrianople, Pelgiuas and have laid siege to Venna. Only it and Castra Acheron still stand between the Qunari and Minrathous itself._

_My agents have received word that the Tevinter Senate has dispatched a representative to Val Royueax, for end I do not know, but can only guess. Perhaps they seek the aide of Orlais against the Qunari… or perhaps even to against for the Divine's blessing for a Holy War against the heathen. I truly do not know either way._

_To this end I request permission to call your vassals in Upper Antiva to arms should the heathen's gaze turn this way. Though the northern border has a strong natural defense I still believe it most prudent to prepare should the worst happen. _

_Signed Ser Raymond of Giles by your Grace Lord Commander if Upper Antiva_

Cecilia read the letter twice through before fetching a quill, ink and parchment. After adding proper address she scribbled a single line of word upon the parchment.

_Make it so_

XXX

The air was filled with the burning smell of incense as the Ariqun, the priesthood of the qunari, prepared the warriors of the Beresaad for the fight to come. They would have the most dangerous and glorious of the tasks, to act as the Orlesians might call Les Enfants Perdus, or the Forlorn Hope in other tongues. They would be the first onto the walls of Venna on siege towers and ladders in the effort to gain a foothold upon the walls for others to follow. The Beresaad would be heavily outnumbered by their foes and many would die in the effort. But without their efforts the siege could not continue and Venna could not fall.

The Arishok watched the warriors forcing down his own desire to join them in their glorious pursuits. He watched as the Ariqun passed among the warriors of the Beresaad speaking the soothing words of the Qun and allowing them to breathe deeply of a vaporous substance steaming up from an ornate bowl. The bowl contained a small amount of the substance known to the Qunari as qamek. Used by the Ben-Hassrath to free those whom that have declared 'beyond enlightenment' turning them into mindless servants, living servants of the Qun.

In the small amounts used by the warriors of the Beresaad it would deaden the senses to pain keep the body moving long past its normal endurance by sending them in a blood maddened fury. While its use over prolonged periods of time was debilitating it would give these warrior the edge they needed to succeed against the legionaries of the Imperium.

"Hail Arishok," the most senior priestess of the Ben-Hassrath called out.

Like with every Qunari host with this one marched priests, priestess and wardens of the Ben-Hassrath, the keepers of the all things religious with the Qunari state. They were here to make sure that the warriors stayed upon the path of the Holy Word and did not deviate from its teachings. They would also be responsible for overseeing the newly conquered territories and seeing that they were reeducated in the proper manner.

When Venna fell to his army it would only be the beginning. When he moved on they would remain to reshape the city into the image of perfection that was the Qun. Those who turned to embrace the Qun would find purpose and understand to their dreadful existence. Those who refused would serve the Qun either through their labor or deaths.

"Honored priestess," the Arishok said with a slight inclination of his head, "You will have new children to teach soon enough and the Qun a new city. Soon we will be one step closer to tearing down the Imperium and bringing Koslun's holy word to the rest of the baas."

And in blood, fire and pain fall Venna did.

XXX

_First of all I would like to apologize for this taking so long. I am currently in KAF Afghanistan with the US Army and it's taken me a while to get settled in so I can write. I will try to get a new chapter uploaded at least every other week. _

_As far as Tevinter ranks go you all have probably been able to guess that the Imperium in this fic is based upon Republican Rome. _

_The government of Tevinter is split into the Senate and the Plebian Assembly. _

_The Senate is comprised of the magic capable nobility the most senior of which is the Patricians, the families who can trace themselves back to the founding of the Imperium. The senatorial offices of the Imperium were Quaestor, Aedile, Praetor and Archon standing in place of the actual rank of Consul in the Roman Republic._ _The senate has authority over foreign policy, major financial issues and it would advise on legislation and religious questions._

_Quaestors served in the financial administration at MInrathous or as second-in-command to a governor in the province. Aediles, two of the four were of senatorial status and had administrative responsibilities within the City of Minrathous. After holding either the office of quaestor or aedile a mage of senatorial rank can stand for Praetor. They could command armies in the absence of the Archon and would preside over trials involving criminal acts as well as grant court orders or validate "illegal" acts as acts of administering justice. _

_The office of Archon was the most prestigious of all, and represented the summit of a successful career. The Archons would alternate monthly as the chairman of the Senate. They also were the supreme commanders in the Tevinter army, with each being granted two personal legions during their year in office. The Archons also exercised the highest juridical power in the Imperium, being the only office with the power to override the decisions of the Praetor Senorius the Chief Judicial Official in Minrathous. _

_The second segment of the Imperium's government is called the Plebian Assembly_ _ which is comprised of non-magical persons, wealthy merchants, former military officials and other wealthy but non-magical peoples. It has powers to create legislative laws. Its only major office was Tribune of Plebs that had the authority to veto any action of the assembly or Senate._

_Like the government the Tevinter military is based on the Roman Legions. The lowest rank is legionary the rank and file of the legions. The next ranks are that of centurion who commands centuries of a hundred men. Above them are more senior Centurion who command cohorts and above them are Tribunes who serve as staff officers and can command several cohorts or auxiliaries. Beyond that are legates or legatus who command the legions themselves and are traditionaly men of senatorial status. Finally there are generals who are appointed by the Senate and are former archons who can command several legions._


	4. Chapter 3

**Dragon Queen: Exalted**

Chapter 3:

Venna burned, the ancient city of the Imperium at fallen in a storm of steel, fire and blood. Even from this distance Tribune Lucius Castus could see the fires burning. The Qunari had come with terrible wrath, storming walls of adamant laying the proud city low. He couldn't even begin to consider the costs in lives and the cost in the Imperium's war effort.

"Sir what do we do," one of the horsemen said. He was a young man and this was his first campaign. The weeks on the run behind the Qunari lines, always on the move least the ox-men pin them down and destroy them had taken its toll on all their health.

"We need to make for the Acheron, that's what we need do," a second man said his voice wavering as was his courage.

"Enough," the Centurion named Seeruis barked at the dozen remaining men left. The weeks had not been kind to the cavalry squadron. There raids had become more and more difficult and dangerous as time progressed and they had lost many a good man. More than half their party had been slain in the running battles that had characterized their small campaign.

"Sir," the Centurion said, "we are with you to the end. What are your orders?"

Even though he masked it well Lucius could hear the pain in the man's voice. The centurion was as ragged looking as the rest of them. The man was hurting as well. The left side of his face was swathed in bandages from where a Qunari sword and nearly taken out his eye. In fact most of the cavalrymen were hurting in some form or another.

Lucius Castus looked around at the sorry state of his men. Bandaged and bleeding, broken and tired and realized that it was over. His raids beyond the Styx's was over and the only thing left to him was to see his men back to Castra Acheron and link up with Marius's gathering legions. He would add what little strength his squadron had left to General Marius's forces, giving them time to recuperate and rest.

"Alright men we head back to the-," he started but he orders were cut off as his scout road back towards the squadron at full gallop.

"Tribune," the scout called, "Qunari outriders they come in great numbers… Sir-," his final words were interrupted as a large arrow the length of a man's leg tore through his chest sending him toppling from his horse.

"Hell and damnation," Castus swore as he heard the bellows of a war horn. Drawing his blade he held it high over his head, "To arms brothers… to arms!"

The Qunari assault came rapidly, screaming war cries and the passages of their holy script. Castus reacted without thought forming his remaining dozen men in a battle line and charged. The Qunari came, ox-men and viddathari both, the former riding their massive draft horses and the later wearing smaller swifter horses.

The Tribune, riding at the head of his men, was the first to claim blood as he drove his blade through the heart of a human convert. The fight degenerated into a bloody brawl as the horsemen flailed about at each other in a contest less about martial skill and more about survival. Swords and lances flashed as the deadly dance continued causing Qunari and Tevinter both to fall wounded and dead.

Though the cataphracts fought bravely killing scores of Qunari they skill fell nonetheless. Castus cursed as he saw his centurion take a spear in the gut, yet he remained atop his horse killing the one who struck at him. With only five men left including himself Lucius Castus realized that the fight was lost.

"Fall back," he called as he caught an ox-man across the face with the tip of his blade. "Withdraw... to the river," he sounded as he killed yet another Qunari. He fought on as he saw his men withdraw and when the last had taken flight he turned and spurred his horse taking flight along with what was left of his command.

The true Qunari stayed put and silent gathering their strength and tended their wounds. The converts lashed out with jeers and taunts can began to scavenge from the dead of both sides. They were knew to the Holy Word and as long as they fought well lapses could be forgiven.

The Tribune of Soldiers felt tears staining his cheeks as it mount reached gallop. He swore revenge on the Qunari for the deaths of his men and for all the lives lost in Venna.

XXX

The Kings and Queens of old would not have recognized their city. Denerim, the ancient seat of the heirs of Calenhad, the Silver Knight of legend, had undergone quite a metamorphosis in the near decade since the Dragon had taken the throne. A massive project of public works had been undertaken at the direction of the crown to transform the city into a capital worthy of the great kingdom Ferelden had become.

Great edifices of quarried stone and marble had been erected to replace the wooden buildings and structures that had made up so much of the city. With the wealth from her conquests flowing to Denerim the city had experienced a burst of grow. The city of Calenhad had been rebuilt, modeled in such a way to resemble the glories of ancient Tevinter. All over the city great monuments were built to the Kings and Queens of old, victories and glories of the realm funded by the riches of Antiva and the vast virginal resources of the Wilds.

A great marble statue of Calenhad the Silver Knight holding aloft a sword of bejeweled silver dominated the new market, a display of Ferelden's newfound wealth and power. A new aqueduct and sewer system supplied fresh water and disposed of waste dumping it into the Waking Sea. Cobblestone roads replaced packed dirt and the docks which supplied the city's life's blood of trade had expanded and was busier than ever. The city's walls were reinforced and strengthened to repair centuries of degradations and new towers were added along the walls. The Royal Palace itself was near completely remodeled as befitting Queen Cecilia's and Fereldan's new status.

Denerim was created anew, a rival to powers that would have once considered it backwards and savage. And it was a city in festival celebrating the triumph of their Queen and their armies over the Wildmen of the south. In a tevinter fashion the Queen had chosen to celebrate her victories in the triumphant manner of a conquering general.

A winding near mile long column of knights, men-at-arms and warriors of Ferelden marched through the streets of their capital city, victorious conquerors of the savage wilds. The streets were lined with cheering commoners eager to see the return of their warriors in eternal triumph. Women tossed flowers and children cooed and laughed pointing at the horses and the metal men a top them.

Near the center of the column rode the Queen Cecilia, Prince Charles and the knights of the Dragonguard rode in their finest armor. Charles, the Prince of Orlais sat upon his mighty white destrier which was clad in gleaming blue and gold barding plating as it high-stepped through the streets. The Queen's beast was far more intimating. Its coat and its armor like that of its rider was the deepest of blacks and its eyes were pale obsidian orbs that on occasion Charles swore burned red. The horses of the Dragonguard were copies, pale copies, but copies nonetheless in barding and breed to the mount of their Queen.

"For your highnessness," a small voice called off to his side. Flipped up the visor of his helm he looked down to find there was a small girl holding up a single flower.

"Thank you child," he said as he took the flower from the little girl gently taking the stem in his gilded gauntleted hand and twirling it between his fingers. The girl-child giggled and disappeared back into the crowd and presumably to her mother.

To his side he heard the Queen's muffled chuckling. Her voice came distorted from beneath her horned great helm. She turned into him resting her elbow in the pommel of her saddle and titled her head in a questioning manner, "Should I be worried?"

Charles laughed at her amused tone intrigued at a side not often seen from her. He smiled beneath his helm his eyes twinkling with mischief, "Perhaps my Queen she was quite a fair lady."

The Queen snorted and turned back to the front. The parade continued through the streets as they headed towards the Royal Palace of Ferelden. To his surprise Charles quite enjoyed the parade reminding him of General Remus Tillieus's Triumph. He had marched in the Triumph after the savage battle for Sehron which that saw the Imperium's temporary recapture of the island. He had then been a part of Baron Iblien's Free Companies having recently won his spurs under Duke Kasper and had sought to make a name for himself other than that of 'the spare' heir to the Throne of Orlais.

He liked it here.

XXX

"I would have expected more, but I suppose this will do for now," the senior priestess of the Ben-Hassrath said.

The Arishok looked down on the multitudes of prisoners. Venna had fallen and though the city had cost more warriors that he had originally planned for. His new Viddathari vassals had taken a disproportionate share of the losses in the battle. In part it was what they were there for, to shield the more veteran of his warriors from harm.

"Do not worry mighty Arishok," the priestess cooed as she studied the latest spoils of war, "they will make excellent servants when enlightened."

Nearly fifty thousand souls, men, women and children, humans and elves were gathered into camps outside the walls of Venna. These were all that was left of the once mighty city. The legionaries and militia defending the city had fought bravely and with much honor holding the walls against the blood maddened members Beresaad for hours before finally folding. Once the walls and gatehouse was taken the city was lost. The Tevinter had no chance of holding against the flood of righteous fury that had come to claim their sinful existence.

The fury of the Qun had claimed many, many lives including the magistrates and the Praetor who to the Arishok's surprise had not begged, not even when separated from his sword arm and spilling his life's blood upon the onyx tiled floor of the Governor's Palace. The man had been defiant to the end even as the last drop of blood had followed from his veins.

However the Praetor's end had not bothered the Arishok in the slightest his words had given him… if not worry then confusion. He had not die with the words of the Chantry on his tongue as so many others had. He had not prayed to his god or even whispered the benediction that would prepare his soul for the afterlife as a Qunari would have done.

Instead he had fallen with promises of doom on his lips. He had spoken of old powers, ancient gods and terrible vengeance. He had spoken of the resurrection of the Great Dragons the wrath of the ancients ones. He said the Qunari would drown in rivers of their own blood and the Imperium would rise once more. The Arishok had dismissed it as the senseless dribble of a dying man even as he tore the head from the dying Tevinter Praetor with his own bare hands.

He turned his attention to the matters at hand, "Will you be able to hold the city with the temoken and tallises you brought with you?"

When marshaled the Ben Hassrath were a terrible force to behold. What remained of the populace, those who were not press ganged into the Qunari armies for fodder to be used against their former countrymen and masters would be shipped off to work elsewhere with the Realm of the Qun. Venna would be a shade town and naught more than a military encampment. Those whose had once called this city home would never again see her walls.

Eventually when the infidels were driven from these lands settlers would be moved in to repopulate the area transforming them into a proper satrap of the Qun. That however would be many, many years from now after enlightenment had been brought to the infidel. Until then he would teach them with blood and steel.

In the pens that held the captives a great wailing arose as the tallises, agents, of the Ben-Hassrath moved through them separating children and infants from their parents to be taken to the Tamassrans for proper education while healthy men were taken for indoctrination into the Viddarthari while the womenfolk would be taken and to be reeducated to better serve the Qun. The rest, the unhealthy, the infirm and disabled would be purged from the body so their cancer would not weaken it further.

As the Qun taught, waste not.

XXX

"Lord Raymond's letter bodes ill," Teryn Fergus Cousland of Highever said as he ran a hand through his whitening beard. The years since the campaign in Antiva had not been kind to him. During a boar hunt he had gored by its tusk badly damaging his left leg. He had barely survived the injury and the fevers that had followed. His wound had left him with a bad gimp and he was pained whenever he walked, but his mind was still sharp and an able advisor and regent.

"So it does," Cecilia said, carefully her hand threading the raven tresses of her son who sat calmly on her knee seemly gorging upon everything his mother and great-uncle had to say.

To most the young prince Calenhad seemed an odd one. He was quiet for a boy of four lacking the regular youthful exuberance of one so young. Some among the maids said the boy had an 'old soul' while others called him slow. What they did not understand was the relation between a god and her son. The boy's mind was advancing beyond his age and body. For even while his mortal self was taught in the world of the living his soul was taught by his mother's true self in the world of dreams.

"Lord Commander Raymond will call his banns and fortify the North," Cecilia continued.

The Lord Commander's letter had been most troublesome. The Qunari were a great threat and she had not expected to deal with them quite so early in the grand game she was playing. Ideally she would have had the whole of Thedas under her command before dealing with the lost children of forsaken gods. But no plans survived unchanged, not even the plans of gods and perhaps in such trouble there could opportunities.

"And yet," she said thoughtfully, "And yet the Tevinter Senate has sent a representative to the Divine not to the Imperial Diet or the Empress. What does that tell you uncle?"

The old man titled his head, "What?"

"If the Imperium seeks aid from Orlais then why not go to the Empress or the Diet," she smiled leaning back into her chair pulling her son close, "What can be gained by going to the Divine over the Empress," she question seeking to draw out an answer.

The Teyrn's brow furrowed, "The Empress commands vast armies… the Divine she commands the Templars yes but they are numerous, but not enough to throw back the Qunari and surely she cannot think to strip the Circles of their watchers," he paused in his quanderings before turning back with a start, "Unless she thinks…?"

"Of course she does uncle. Tis the only play that makes any sense. The Tevinters will ask the Divine to declare an Exalted March, a holy war against the terrible heathens from the far north and the Nations of Thedas will rise taking the sign of the sun and journeying too far off lands to do battle in the Maker's name," Cecilia explained with a foul taste in her mouth.

Yes as had happened before an Exalted March would be called and the firebrand priests would come to preach war to the masses stirring them into a frenzy of faith and fury. Many commoners would be enticed to march, lured by the promise of the remissions of sins and the temptation of wealth and loot from a vanquished foe. Some nobles would also take part, taking with them their sworn swords and encouraging and or shaming others to go along with them.

In a very short time Cecilia the mortal avatar of the Argon the Dragon God of War would see the bulk of the fighting men depart in the name of Andraste and the Maker. It was an irony that could see her laugh her cry. It was something she could allowed to happen, but something she could not also be seen to be standing against. As much as she hated to admit it, as even as strong as she had grown she was still not strong enough to challenge the Chantry and the rest of the world.

"Here is what we do uncle…"

XXX

The market place as one would expect was filled with merchants and vendors, farmers and craftsman seeking to ply their wares. It was in a way not all that different from the Curia or any other market on market-day in the Imperium. Every once in a while a small trinket would catch the Senator's eye and he would have a slave go fetch. He didn't worry about the price; he had brought much coin with him in case he had the need to bribe certain officials, and also had a certain life style to live up to.

It also gave him opportunity to speak with the commoners and gauge, how one might say, the pulse of the Val Royueax and through it the Empire of Orlais. What he found through idle conversation was that all way not well in the empire. There was certain unrest amongst the lower classes over the recent increase in taxes as well as trouble in east involving the sons of a powerful Duke.

As he walked down the main boulevard of Val Royueax, the Avenue des Champs-Élysées, with his Palatine Guards and small host of slaves in tow. As he did he took in the sights of the city and allowed his mind to drift. For the past three days he had been in the capital of the empire of orlais and the for the past three days the Council of Clerics, the Divine and the Knight Vigilant, the Master of the Templars, had been debating over the issue of an Exalted March.

The Tevinter Senator had no doubts about what their final decision would be. In a way they were without a choice. The Qunari were a threat that the Divine and the rest of Thedas could not dismiss. The last time the Warriors of the Qun had launched a full scale assault upon the continent they had cut the Imperium in two, advancing on the gates of Minrathous itself and sweeping down to the very shores of the Waking Sea. Nearly all of the Free Marches and Neverra had fallen to the Qun. Even mighty Orlais fought a defensive struggle for decades before finally after nearly two centuries regaining the offensive and hurling the Qunari back across the Northern Sea. It had been a war leaving millions dead and the continent ravaged.

It was something that could not be allowed to happen again. For Decimus had not gone to the Chantry on a whim. He knew the Divine and the Chantry had been criticized in the past for its slowness to respond to threats. Even though it was nearly two and a half decades past the Mage Rebellion in Kirkwall, and the Chantry's indecision, had not dimmed in the minds of the High Nobility. The Chantry would declare an Exalted March, if only not to appear weak and indecisive.

And the senator strolled through market taking in the sights of the greatest city in the south. It fact it was a poor second to his own city, personal bias notwithstanding.

"Lord Senator," a voice called belonging to a man, a templar squire by the look of him and his dress, "Lord Senator, her holiness request your presence the Council has come to a decision."

Scipio Alexius Decimus gathered the folds of his robes and smiled, "Of course lead on my good man."

The templar squire lead the senator and his party back down the main streets of the city away from the Citadel-like structure of the Imperial Palace of Drakon with its five glittering towers rising high above the city like the four fingers and a thumb rising to pluck the stars from the sky. Reaching the Grand Catheral, the Maker's Greatest House in Thedas, the senator stepped inside having already dismissing most of his entourage save the Palatine Guards which carried the bound fasces, the symbol of his personal imperium as a representative of Tevinter.

He entered the hall of Virtuous Values flanked by painted marble statues of the Saints of the Chantry each one crafted in such skill and detail that except for their perfect motionless one could easily imagine that the great beings of the Faith returning to teach and lead the faithful once more. At the end of the hall stood a statue of the Prophetess Andraste, painstaking rendered in loving detail. The Senator took the stairs to the second level of the sprawling complex that served as the Divine's office and study and contained the entrance to the balcony which hung out over the Plaza of Saint Ellenia, the First Divine, from which her holiness could preach to the multitudes.

He was greeted by a quartet of knights in gleaming gilded plate with helms crowned with eagle's wings. However, the heraldry upon his chest was not the sunburst of the Maker, but the All-Seeing-Eye. These were not templars, but the Seekers of the Truth the personal agents of the Divine. The knights escorted him deeper into the complex to the chamber were the Divine and the Council sat.

"Honored Senator," the Divine addressed, "We have agreed with you plea. Even as we speak couriers are being sent to Nevarra, Starkhaven and the Marcher's League, the Anderfel and Ferelden summon either their sovereign or designated representative. We will build such a coalition such as the world has never seen. We will drive the Qunari from our shores once and forever more."

XXX

It was called the Dragon's Den and it served as the Headquarters of the Sovereign's Order and the billets of the Knights of the Order stationed in Denerium while the Order's foot and men-at-arms were housed at Fort Drakon. The fortress-like headquarters of the Order was once the mannerly estate of the Arl of Denerium, but it had not been used for such since before Cecilia took the throne of Ferelden. The line of the Arls of Denerium had been extinguished in the Blight and so the throne had claimed it as their own.

Secrecy abounded in the Den, made more so by the fact that only knights of the Order were allowed to enter. Rumors persisted about exactly what went own within its walls, but no one save the Order knew for sure.

In the bowels of the estate in what had once been the dungeons but and since been refitted stood Cecilia Therein, Queen of the Kingdom of Greater Ferelden , her Dragonguard and the anointed knights of the Order. What was once a dungeon was remade as a temple, or a shine of sorts were the new knights would be inducted in the Order. The campaign in the Wilds had bloodied the knights and their numbers would need to be brought back up if they were to fight a new war that loomed on the horizon.

To an outsider to would appear the purpose of the Sovereign's Own the result of the Queen wishing to consolidate her power much like the Royal of Army of Orlais or the Praetorian Legion in Tevinter. Little did they know what was the true purpose of the Order of the Sovereign's Own. Their members were composed of young men and women drawn from the nobility of all Ferelden. Some were children of lesser nobles' families and hedge knights but other were the scions of greater houses seeking fame and glory before returning to lead their house.

The Order of the Sovereign's Own was not as mot believe a chivalric order of knightly brotherhood, in fact it was a Cult devoted to the Lord of War. It was the first step in Cecilia's effort to destabilize the Chantry. When the Knights of the Order left to return home they would take their practices with them, spreading the Cult of War. It would be slow… but then again a god had nothing if not time.

Nearly two hundred knights were gather in the underground temple clothed in black robes emblazoned with the sigil of Dragon God of War over the crimson dragon that was the heraldry of the Queen of Ferelden. Before them at the base of the dais on which their Queen and the incarnate Lord of War knelt the new initiates ready to receive the blessing of their god.

"You stand at a precipice. You have won honors and others have spoken highly of your loyalty to even stand before me here. You have realized that there is more before you than the lies the so-called Maker offers you. Now you take the final step… to throw off your allegiance to a weak and pitiful deity who declines to even acknowledge or reward you efforts."

Cecilia paused letting her words sweep over her audience. No matter how many times she would do it the Queen always felt a thrill course through her flesh as she watched more souls throw off the chains of their subservience to the Maker and pledge their fealty to her and the Dragon Pantheon. It was a small start but then the mightiest rockslide began with the first falling pebble.

She turned to her left where the Captain of her Dragonguard, the Queen's Champion Ser Wesely stood silently holding a bronze sunburst, the Maker's Holy Sign. The knight solemnly a approached holding the icon before each of the initiates.

"What say you," Cecilia asked.

Not one hesitated, a remarkable feet considering what they were about to forsaken the god of their forefathers. As the captain of the Dragonguard stood before them each spat upon the Sunburst and swore themselves for a second time to Cecilia, Queen of Ferelden and the God of War made flesh.

"Now ready yourself," she called as she took a knife and ran the edge of the blade across her marble skin. Blood flowed freely from the self-inflicted wound as she passed it over several silver chalices allowing a few drops of her blood to fall into the water filled cups.

"Now drink."

XXX

"Sir he is dead," the cavalry trooper said his voice toned between sorrow at the loss of a comrade and the fear of still being hunted by Qunari outriders.

Lucius Castus former Tribune of Horse for the IV Legion of the Army of the Senate and People of Tevinter looked down at the dead of body of his friend, fellow soldier and survivor of the IV, Centurion Seeruis Verni.

The Tribune signed heavily as he looked down at his bloodstained hands, logically knowing that there had been nothing he could have done. Even the greatest magi healers would not have been able to save a man speared through liver and intestines by a Qunari spear. It had been a miracle that the Centurion had made it even this far before succumbing to his wounds. Still he felt guilt for surviving when so many other brave men had not.

He reached out and closed the fallen man's eyes and crossed his arms crossed his chest. He drew from his own purse a pair of coins and per ancient tradition to pat the boatman to ferry a soul to the afterlife. It was a tradition rarely used as most Andrastian nations preferred to cremate their dead and it was frowned upon for being originally a Draconic tradition.

Rising the Tribune quickly mounted his mount, sadden by the loss of a comrade and knowing they lacked the time to give him a proper burial. Pulling tightly on the reigns he brought his horse around towards the great river Styx and the safety it offered.

They rode through the night not willing to risk another stop least the Qunari catch up with them as in their current states they were unlikely to survive another encounter. By the time the sun began to rise over the gently rolling hills they were insight of the winding river that served as one of the Imperium's greatest natural lines of defense from the east.

They had made it. Or at least some of them had made it Lucius mused, as he looked at his ragged band. They had fought so long and hard to subvert the march of the Qun. There had some successes in sabotage against the invading Qunari, but not enough. They had raided, pillaged and reeked chaos behind the lines causing havoc among the Qunari supply lines, but in the end they had not been able to do enough.

XXX

_Greetings from Afghanistan_. _I'd like to thank my readers who have stayed with me up to this point. _

_**Note: No Real World Religious debate please… just trying to make an in-game point**__._

_One of the things I try to do when plating or writing RPG games is think the way someone in that world would think. When it comes to the Chantry in the world of Dragon Age one has to be careful of how you write them. _

_When at the end of Dragon Age 2 it said the Chantry was "on the edge of collapse" I thought that was incredibly stupid. While its temporal powers over the mages and Templars may have suffered how would the fate of Kirkwall affect the beliefs of the rest of the world. Andrastism?... is still the dominant religion in Continental Thedas worshiped sincerely or otherwise by most every human or elf who is not either Dalish or under the Qun. The Popes of the Catholic Church had very little temporal power in medieval Europe, but their status as the "Vicars of Christ' meant they had great sway over the faithful. _

_In a world like this with this kind of setting atheism doesn't fly… even in our own world not believing in a god of any kind is a relatively new concept. Belief is a powerful, powerful thing and most people need something to believe in whatever it was or is. _

_The point is that Cecilia can't simply announce what she is or challenge the Chantry outright it in itself because of the sway it holds over the hearts and minds of the nobility and commoners alike. It would be like if a Medieval English King suddenly decided to be a Pagan again and announced he was doing away with Christianity within his realm. Not only would the Church denounce him but the rest of Europe would rally against him and his people would rise. Like the Cathar heresy in France they would discover what being on the receiving end of Crusade fells like._

_The idea is not to spark a religious war with the Chantry until she had 'corrupted' enough of her Kingdom and possibly others, the noble and commoner alike to be able to withstand the rest Thedas in open war. That can't happen if her nobles are declaring her a heretic and the people are rising against her… what can it say gods think about the big picture._

_Also let's face it historical religious tolerance hasn't been big with any organized religion in ancient and medieval times. In fact in Dragon Age they have a legitimate reason for intolerance. The Chantry believes their god won't come back until the Chant is sung from the fours corner of the world… read between the lines and this means a universal religion, not room for compromise. _

_**Note: No Real World Religious debate please… just trying to make an in-game point**__._


	5. Chapter 4

**Dragon Queen: Exalted**

**Chapter 4: Conclave**

Its official and formal name was 'The Conclave of the Faithful of the most Holy Maker' but to most it was simply called the Conclave. At its most simplest it was a gathering of the high lords of the Andtrastain nations to discuss the matter of threats to the realms of the Maker and to serve as a forum from which the Divine could discuss the matters of the Faith. In a way it was larger version of the Imperial Senate, the Orlesian Imperial Diet, and even the Ferelden Landsmeet.

Such a gathering was most ominous Charles, the Prince-Consort and of Ferelden and a Royal Prince of Orlais mused. There had been twelve such meeting before this and not one had passed without great change coming upon the face of Thedas. The first Conclave had formally established the Knights of the Templar as the Chamber Militant of the Chantry and had seen the formation of the Circle of Magi through which world would be protected from mages and the mages kept safe from the world.

The second had seen the an Exlated March against the faithless Elves of Dale and six more over a period of nearly three centuries had seen Exalted Marches proclaimed to drive the heathen Qunari back across the Northern Sea. If was not something that a Divine could call lightly as it required the monarchs of the Andrastain kingdoms to travel to Val Roueax or at the very least dispatch a representative of enough rank to speak and make vows on their sovereigns behalf.

To his left walked his brother Prince Phillip who often went by the cognomen, the Fair. It had been nearly six years since the Princes of Orlais, the Sons of the Empress Celene I and the heirs to the lineage of Drakon had last spoken to one another in the flesh.

Though Ferelden was not without its charms, his wife and son chief among them, Charles had missed the sound and feel of his native homeland. He had missed the melodious song of the Chant of Light as it was continually sung from the Grand Cathedral from start to finish. He missed the sights and familiarity of the Imperial Manse in which he had been in raised. He had missed this room, this corridor to be specific. It was called the Hall of Remembrance and along its length in niches carved into the walls were elaborately sculpted busts of the Emperors and Empresses past.

As a boy and young man he loved to walk this hall at first with his tutor as he explained the history of the monarchs and then latter he loved to walk on his own. Once there had been a time when he could have recited from memory the names of each and given a short account of their reign. That knowledge had fled from his years ago but every time he looked upon the face of his forebears he could felt pride and honor burn within his chest.

"Thing I am afraid have not been well for Orlais," his brother said disrupting his revelry.

Charles turned to face his brother, his elder brother and heir to the Imperial Throne of the Orlesian Empire. Though they were brothers they were very different in both manner and appearance. Charles was a powerful built man with a lifetime of martial training behind him. He was handsome in an athletic way, an expert horseman, skilled with sword, spear, lance and all manners of other weaponry of knightly combat. He was a great leader of men and a warrior of renown from the Korcari Wilds to the Isle of Sehron in the far north.

Phillip, on the other hand, had not earned the cognomen 'the Fair' without reason. He was not quite as tall as his younger brother and lacked Charles's powerful build. Phillip was not a warrior or a fighter; at least not with a sword or other knightly arms his preferred weapon was his mind. The effeminate prince was a master at the "Game" as it was called in Orlais. Phillip was a master of spies and assassins, of playing the often fractious nobles against one another to the advance of the crown. It was a game he detested buy it was one necessary for the survival of the empire.

Orleasian nobility were a particular lot. They couldn't always be brought to heel by a show or act of force and in a way Phillip's skill at the 'Game' would make him a better Emperor that Charles could ever be. Phillip had the Duke of Lorriane if he needed a strong marshal to lead the armies of Orlais, but the skill at the 'Game' would prove invaluable.

"What do you mean brother," Charles questioned.

The elder Prince sighed, "As you know Prosper De Montfort as died recently during a hunting accident. At a point before his death he apparently willed his title and the Duchy to his younger son Henry. The surfaced Will appears to be genuine, but the elder brother is furious and more than half the barons have already pledge fealty to him the other half young Henry has swayed to his side… it is possible that unless a compromise can be reached we might be looking at a war in Aquitaine. I have already dispatched Baron De Dalacroix with two hundred Chevaliers under the Empress's Banner with orders to keep the peace. "

Charles hissed cursing both the arrogant Duke Prosper, his sons and the whole House De Montfort. This was the last thing that was needed. A war for the Duchy of Aquitaine would upset the whole south of Orlais and perhaps all Orlais itself.

"This bodes ill for the conclave," the younger prince stated.

"That is not all," the elder prince chuckled darkly, "There have been an outbreak of peasant uprisings across the empire," his tone suddenly grew somber, too somber for Charles's tastes, "About a week ago an unruly mob of peasants managed to kill the Baron of Ibelin and his son and daughter as they were traveling along the Imperial Highway."

"Truly," Charles said incredulously. It was one thing for the common folk to groan about their lot in life, Charles himself had ridden to put down fools who thought to rise above their stations. But for rabble to murder their liege lord who's right it was to rule over them was horrendous. It was a terrible crime against all the nobility of the realm whom the Maker had set to rule with wisdom and mercy.

Though Charles would be the first to admit that few ruled in strictest accordance to the Code of Chivalry it was not the place of the common folk to judge. If a lord was found to be criminal he could be brought before the Imperial Diet and judged amongst his peers. But no lesser man had the right to kill his liege.

"What will be done?"

"Your old mentor Duke Kasper marched south and occupied Castle Ibelin and set about restoring order in the barony. The death of one of his vassals shook the old man and I fear he may have played his hand too hard," Phillip admitted, "there has been much unrest in Ibelin and the Duke's arrival with a dozen lances of Chevaliers and five hundred foot did little to calm the masses."

With the two most powerful Duchies in Orlais besot by troubles and the Royal Army devoted to keeping the peace Charles worried at what forces could be brought to bear for the Exalted March that was to come. No Lord, Baron or Duke would sacrifice the stability of his lands to fight in a far off war not even for the spiritual rewards offered by the Divine.

"How will this affect the Divine's Exlated March?"

Phillip the fair took a moment to think as the brothers continued their walk about the palace they had grown up in. Coming to stop before a statue of the Emperor Drakon Phillip looked back at Charles, "I spoke to the Duke recently and he said that he could perhaps spare two thousand men… that is men mind you not Chevaliers. He said he would of course lead them leaving his son in command of Lorriane but for the safety of his Duchy he could not take more."

"And the others nobles with of course follow the High Constable's example," he said with a trace of bitterness, "And of course Nevarra will never believe that the bulk of the Orelsian army is tied up at home unable to march at the Divine's calling so we can expect similar numbers to our own."

The longstanding feud between of the Empire of Orlais and Kingdom of Neverra went back centuries to the time when Nevarra was a vassal and province of the empire of Orlais. Though Neverra had won its freedom there had been several bloody wars that had seen the Kingdom maintain their independence and fight off Orlais's attempts to reassert their dominance over their former province. Though their right to exist as a Kingdom had been confirmed by the Treaty of Starkhaven with the blessings of the Chantry, the tensions had not dissipated. Several smaller borders wars had been fought over the 'Blasted Hills' area along the border of Lorriane and the Nevarrian county of Alsace… some of which he had fought in.

Charles studied the statue of the first Orlesian Emperor. The statue of Emperor-Saint Drakon towered over both brothers. The emperor was made from polished marble. He was clothed in the plated armor of the type he had worn while alive. Driven into the pedestal on which the statue stood was the emperor's great sword rendered in painstaking detail on the pommel of which rested his gauntleted hands.

"How strange is that," Charles started staring into the emperor's cold stone eyes, "that we the heirs of the Saint-Emperor should come to this. Defenders of the Faith indeed," Charles laughed darkly, "how has it come that we cannot muster the armies necessary to defend the Chantry. An age ago we could have assembled ten thousands Chevaliers and a hundred thousand foot in a fortnight and had them marching in a month… now what do we have?"

XXX

Antwar, the great costal port and naval shipyard of eastern Tevinter was now firmly in the hands of the Qunari. After the fall of Venna it alone stood as the bastion of Tevinter strength east of the River Styx. In Tevinter hands the possession of the coastal city had allowed the Imperious Fleet a base from which to raid Qunari supply lines coming in from Par Vollen. It offered the Imeprium an avenue of counterattack their enemy in their flank as the Arishok and the army of the Qun prepared for the massive undertaking of storming the Castra Acheron and crossing the river Styx.

Leaving the larger portion of his army to march on the Acheron the Arishok had taken near a hundred thousand warriors north and laid siege to Antwar. The city like so many of the cities of Tevinter was well defended and supplied.

Coordination with the Qunari Master of Sea the Arishok had besieged the city both on land and from the waters cutting off any chance of supply or relief by land or sea. As predicted the Imperium's Sea Lords were forced to react, pulling a large portion of their fleet away from raiding the Qunari supply lines to make an assault upon the blockade.

The two fleets had crashed together in the coastal waters visible to both the Qunari land forces and the defenders of Antwar. The mighty Qunari dreadnaughts brought death with cannonade and shot while the War Galley's of the Imperium fought back with back with ballista bolts and arcane spells. The battle had lasted a batter part of a day but when the smoke had cleared it was the Qunari fleet that remained and stood victorious.

What was left of the once might Imperious Navy had slipped off in inglorious defeat a broken force leaving the port city to fend for itself. For every ship that managed to escape five and been destroyed or captured. For the people of Antwar the disaster had been too much for them to bear. In their despair the citizens of the city revolted killing their city praetor, flung open the gates of their city and threw themselves upon the mercy of the Qunari.

There none to be found however for in the eyes of the Qunari they were neither cruel nor merciful. The Qunari acted as the Qun demands and for them there would be no other option than that. The people of this city would be separated to serve in such a way that would best serve the Qun. The city would become as nothing more than a supply depot for the advancing Qunari armies for their assault on Acheron across the river Styx.

"You have done well Sea Master," the Arishok said to the wizened warrior who commanded the fleets in service of the Qun, "the Imperious Fleet has been dealt a blow from which it will not soon recover."

The elderly sage-like Qunari rose, "There is no need for praise my lord… all is done in service to the holy word and that is enough praise for any who would call them Qunari."

The Arishok nodded approvingly, "With the fleet destroyed we now have complete control of the open seas is that not right?"

The Sea Master agreed, "It is so, but the Imperium will still be able to operate in the coastal regions and river ways where our deep water craft cannot easily traverse. Even then the coastline will not allow a landing further west of Antwar unless we take the mouth of the River Styx."

"To do that we must first take the Acheron," another war leader growled.

That would be no easy feat. In all the years of war the great Castra Acheron had never fallen to the armies of the Qun. In the past the Qunari armies had swept through the lowlands and then turned south into Antiva through the mountain of Kalmar. This time however he feared it would not work. His spies had informed him that the new Ferelden lords of Antiva had taken great pains to fortify the mountain passes.

He had left a host of warriors at the city of Taruem in the South as a guard in case he was wrong and the Ferelden's came to the aid of the Imperium by marching through the winding passes. The narrow icy passages were treacherous enough, but with an army on the other side it would be a suicidal attempt. The last time it had only worked due to the sheer audacity of the plan.

The last thing he wanted was to fight a war on two fronts. His greatest advantage he possessed was his overwhelming numbers. The failing of previous campaigns could be attributed to the Qunari spreading too far too fast, thinning themselves to where they could be taken piecemeal. The last war leaders had failed to recognize the infidels were not without skill and when corned they fought like any cornered animal, with great ferocity.

He came to a decision, "Acheron must fall!"

With that the assembled warriors gave their roar of approval that seemed to shake the very foundations of Thedas.

XXX

The Grand Cathedral was indeed grand as the name suggested. In the southern wing of the Maker's greatest house where the Council of Clerics would normally met now gathered the greatest lords in the Maker's realm. The table at which they sat was round as not to give the impression that any one lord was greater at this gathering. It was to say that here under the eyes of the Maker they were all equal. Assembled here was the bulk of the Military power of Thedas secular and theological. Each king, prince or lord was allowed two guards one of which carried their personal sigil.

Cecilia took a long look at each of her 'colleagues.' Across from her sat Sebastian Vael, Prince of Starkhaven and Lord of the Marcher League and is confederates. He was her most vocal opponent who had managed to rally half the remaining free cities of the Marches into a loose alliance to oppose and further attempts to carve up the Free Marches.

To his right sat Grand Marshal Hambrecht the right hand of the First Warden of the Anderfels and commander of the Warden Armies. He was younger man, certainly younger than one would expect to hold a title such as he did. Then most did not know what the Dragon Queen of Ferelden knew about the Grey Wardens. He wore the knightly surcoat emblazoned with the griffon sigil of his order. While neutral in the Andrastian conflicts they were still called upon to serve against invaders such as the Qunari.

Cecilia despised the warriors of the Grey, their mere presence grated on her nerves and the taint they carried in their blood assaulted her senses and soul. The Wardens though responsible for her rather ironic freedom were still an abominations and more importantly responsible for the death of her brothers and would cheerfully see them burn for it.

To the Queen's right sat the King of Neverra in rich robes inlaid with gold and silver. The Neverrians were a queer sort as far as the rest of Thedas was concerned. Like the men of Tevinter their ancestors had arrived to this continent by sea after fleeing some great cataclysm that had wracked their original homeland, though they had arrived an age after the Tevinters only to be conquered by them.

Despite this they had kept most their original customs and their King seemed to emphasize the strangest of them. His head was shaved completely bald and the skin above and below his eyes was blacked with some kind of makeup. The King's beard was long and forked at the bottom and the hair glistened with a coat of freshly applied oil and each of his fingers including his thumb was covered with a large ring. A strange sort they were.

Like the Marshal of the Wardens Cecilia wore a richly tailored black surcoat over mail emblazoned with her heraldic dragon. To her left stood her Champion and Captain of the Dragonguard Ser Wesley who unlike her still wore his plate complete with his snarling dragon helm and in his gauntlets he held the royal standard. To her right stood her Prince clad in his own armor though he had his helm clutched under his arm.

To her left representing the Imperium was the man responsible for this summons was Scipio Alexius Decimus Senator of Tevinter. He wore the robes of the senate; white, tinged in purple and was flanked by two legionaries of the Palatine Guard if the Queen had to guess. Decimus himself appeared every bit the patrician nobleman he seemed to be. He even had the… scent… of a mage upon him but that in itself was not surprising.

What was however strange was the way he stole glances at her. It was stealthy enough that she had only caught it by happenstance. Cecilia was beautiful this she knew… it was a weapon she wielded as easily as a sword, but the way he looked at her was not the look of a man wanting a woman… it was different. It was strange, Cecilia mused before turning her gaze upon the next man.

The next man was the Crown Prince of Orlais and her brother-in-law Phillip the Fair sat wearing a finely tailored doublet, wearing the Imperial Cornet and sipping wine out of a crystal goblet. Lastly was the Divine herself wearing the full regalia of the Maker's elect, the Vicar of Andraste and Mother to all.

"Great Lords I thank you for making this journey," the Divine began standing up, "we are gathered here to respond to a great threat to all the lands of the Maker. The Qunari have invaded the North in great strength this you all know. The Imperium has sent a representative South to seek our aid and I am inclined to agree," the old woman turned and gestured, "Lord Senator."

The Tevinter rose, "Thank you your holiness," the senator intoned with a slight bow before turning to face the assemblage, "As the Divine as stated the Qunari have invade d in force. The Eastern Provinces have already fallen. The fortress cities of the lowlands have fallen to our heathen enemy and even now they advance of the great Castra Acheron seeking its ruin, the ruin of the Imperium and of all of us. For aid and swords I thank you… the Senate and People of Tevinter thank you."

With that he took his seat and the Divine rose once more, "I counter the threat I in coordination with my Cleric feel it's our duty to declare an Exalted March, the 13th Exalted March in the name of the Maker and Prophetess Andraste to defend the lands of the Faith from the machinations of the heathen and the apostate."

The old woman paused, "Long ago we united to thrown the heathen back into the sea. We drove the faming sword of faith deep into their heart and gave them a wound to last an age. That was our mistake, to simply drive them from our lands. This time we will not stop merely at that. We will seek the complete and utter destruction of the Qun…and this time it will be so.

XXX

Lucius Castus a Tribune of Soldiers stood on the curtain walls of the Castra Acheron. They were the lowest and most outer of the three stone walls that ringed the ancient fortress. Beyond the river he could see the Qunari making camp and erecting fortifications of their own. They were dicking trenches and erecting walls and pits for their… cannons he believed they were called. He had watched them for three days know as they readied themselves for a siege. Ever since the loss of the fleet off Antwar and the surrender of the city the Qunari had been steadily reinforcing their position in ever increasing numbers.

Twice the river galleys had attempt to make sallying attacks by landing Naval Legionaries and attacking with bastila and magic. The attacks had been repulsed with all the legionaries being killed, with four galley's being sunk and two more being so badly damaged they had to be abandoned. It had been their last opportunity to use them in any meaningful attack. The loss of the Fleet at Antwar meant that the rest of the surviving ships supposed to be patrolling the river needed to be pulled to protect the coastline. This rather unfortunate turn of events meant leaving the river undefended.

Though the Styx was swift and deep it did not mean it could not be forded somewhere. Tevinter's had been forced to send out patrols on foot and horse to shadow the Qunari movements. If the warriors of the Qun could get a sizable force across the river they the Acheron could fall, would most likely fall. Though three legions were stationed at the Acheron it could have easily held ten. If besieged three legions would not hold for any great period of time.

Four more legions had been drawn from garrison duty along the Western and Southern border. Two were to reinforce the Archeron while the others went North to guard the coast. The coastline was rough and rocky and most was sheer cliffs but there were a few ports and naval enclaves that would need to be protected. Antwar had been an utter disaster and it could not be repeated, certainly not in a city with a direct line to Minrathous. Six more were being raised even as he stood here, but it would take some time before their training was complete and even then they would be green and unbloodied.

"Tribune Castus," an old wearily looking man called.

"General Titus," Lucius saluted, "What can I do for you?"

General Titus Miridius Maximus was an old man brought of his retirement at the behest of the Senate. Like many other he had earned high honors on Sehron fighting against the Qun and he was also famed for the destruction of a Rivian army in a punitive expedition a decade ago. He had not commanded an army since.

"I do know if you are aware but Legate Aulus was killed yesterday," the General began wrapping his thick crimson soldier's cloak around himself to ward of the chill of the night air.

Lucius grimaced, "No I had not."

"With his demise I find myself in need of a new Legate of Cavalry and there are few men who possess your skill, determination and experience," the general said , "Are you up for it?"

Lucius blinked… him a Legate. He would have command over every cavalry trooper and horseman in the general's army, "I accept of course general."

"Good. Your first order is to rework Aulus's patrol routs," the general ordered all serious, "with the fleet gone we neeed to make sure those bastards cannot ford the next… at least not without our knowing it. I wanted patrols sent out five leagues both directions daily. If the Qunari move we must know about it."

XXX

The meeting chamber of the west wing of Grand Cathedral was in uproar and Cecilia loved every minute of it. What was supposed to have been a council to decide the best means to prosecute an Exalted March and turned into something that resembled a market day argument between two grouchy street vendors.

How quickly old grudges were brought up, Orlais and Neverra, Orlais and the Free Marches, the Templars and Tevinter, Tevinter and Anderfels, the Templars and the Wardens. Even her own husband had been quickly drawn into the fray in defense of his homeland only to be set upon by Prince Vael for his part in the conquest of Antiva and Kirkwall. Cecilia watched it all with an amused eye refusing to take part all the while taking note of disagreements and disfranchisements storing the information away for later use.

The grand argument had been started when the Prince of Orlais, Phillip not Charles, had reported on the rather meager numbers of Imperial troops that would be able to take part in the Exalted March due to the rest needing to remain for the 'security of the realm.' As Charles had predicate it did not go over well with the King of Neverra. He had gone into a rage declaring the Orlais was merely using this as a pretext for him to send his forces North while Orlais invaded his lands… from their things had gone downhill. It had been amusing to see these self-proclaimed "Children of the Maker" at one another's throats here in their god's own temple. It had been amusing at first now it was simply becoming annoying. As the minutes turned into hours and the hours, half a day it turned from annoying it infuriating.

The Queen of Ferelden decided to act pushing back from the marble table she grabbed the painstakingly crafted oaken chair she had been sitting in paying no mind as the goose feathered pillow fell to the floor. Unnoticed by near everyone in the room save Ser Wesely who had his head titled like a curious hound, she hefted the chair testing its weight before slamming it into the table, fracturing it into a thousand tiny splinters.

The room went silent as everyone's hands dropped to the swords at their belts. No one opened their mouths or said a word as Cecilia started each of them down drawing on her ability to increase her presence and spur fear in the hearts of others.

"I believe," she began in a tone so frigid her husband would later swear he saw frost on her breath, "I believe we have gotten off topic… we hear here to discuss a threat to us all," he icy blue eyes flicked upward to the Divine, "her holiness wishes to know what each of us can bring to this endeavor. When I return to Ferelden I will call my banner save those who just returned from the Wilds and the forces of Lord Commander Raymond in Northern Antiva. When all assembled I should have close to seventy-five thousand men under arms. That is half again the number of men I took to Antiva."

"Blessed child," the Divine called, "truly an example to the faithful."

Slowly the other high lords sat and one by one pledge troops though none of the Lords where save the Prince of Starkhaven would lead them personally. Duke Kasper would command the Forces of the Orlais, the Knight-Vigilant would command the Templars and presumably the whole march, Nerverra's own would fall under the command of the Count Saundra of Alsace, man who hated Orlais with a deep passion, and the Warden's would pick one of the Marshals to lead the forces of the Anderfels.

When all was said an finished an additional forty thousand troops would be added to her own. Not quite the grand army of legends. The climactic battle of the First Qunari invasion had seen the armies of the Maker assemble near a quarter of a million men.

"The Maker smiles upon us all," the Divine stated holding her hands up high, "Let us pray for wisdom for the Knight Vigilant Jacques de Châtillon as he leads this Exalted March-"

Cecilia cut off the Maker's High Priest with a raise or her hand, "Hold now. My generous is not due to my…," she searched for a word and the smile at the utter irony of it, "… my piety alone. It Ferelden is to commit the lion's share of the troops then I will command this March not the Templars."

The priest frowned, "That is… that is not the way it had been done… the Knight Vigilant as always commanded…"

Her eyes shifted to the Knight-Vigilant of the Templar Order whose aged face was covered in a deep frown, "No offense," she said with a wolfish smile, "but the army of Ferelden will not march under any command but my own… and if you wish my armies than that is my price."

"I concur" Phillip the Fair of Orlais agreed almost immediately, "The Queen here has proven herself and experience commander against such men as the late King Castlen of Antiva and the Viscount of Kirkwall. She had also spent near five years campaigning against the barbarians of the Wild. Who better to lead our army against the Qunari?"

"I second the motion," the King of Neverra said twisting the ends of his fork, "better than a pompous overbred Orlesian." All the Orlesians in the room frowned bitterly at the remark but the king continued, "After all better to go with someone who had been battle tried and tested… even if her taste in men leaves something to be desired."

Charles pointedly cleared it throat though the King merely waved him off.

"I agree," Grand Marshal Hambrecht spoke, "We need a war leader of proven skill to lead this Exalted March. I am sure the First Warden would agree on this."

"I would of course appreciate any advice the Knight-Vigilant could bestow," Cecilia said sweetly allowing her presence to fill the room just like before working her spell over her occupants. It was not so much of a spell but a result of her mere presence. She was an Old God made flesh and as she grew in strength her mortal shell was longer… adequate to hold all of her power. Some off it seeped out like sweat in a way and when she wanted to she could use it to create awe or even fear slowly or subtlety influencing others.

"I disagree," the Prince of Starkhaven all but snarled ruining the effect, "This woman is a murderer and a tyrant. She killed my frie-"

"Viscount Hawke died in honorable combat," Charles snapped interrupting the other prince, "and his death was his own doing. He did all he could to provoke and attack for what reason I cannot fathom."

"Kirkwall and Antiva," Vael barked.

"Belong to Ferelden and Cecilia," the Divine spoke calmly drawing all eyes to her, "this was already decided. Viscount Hawke left no heirs of his body or will and the last of the Royal House of Antiva is married to a vassal of the Royal House of Ferelden. This has been all discussed Prince Vael your objection were noted and dismissed just as you know Queen Cecilia was confirmed in her holdings."

"Your holiness if I may," Jacques de Châtillon, the Knight Vigilant of the Order said as he rose. The head of the Templars was not a handsome man. Most his face was covered in scars he had earned in a fight with a demon when he had served as a line Templar in the Circle of Cumberland. He was a son of lesser Baron of Orlais and had risen to this rank due to more merit than family connection.

The Divine nodded, "Speak Jacque."

"I willing to step down from my command to the good of the cause," he said with a gracious bow in the Queen's direction, "and I accept Queen Cecilia's offer to advise her."

"I humbly accept and thank you for your assistance," Cecilia answered with a inclination of her head, "What say the rest of you?"

One by one they agreed. In the end even the Prince of Starkhaven had to submit to the will of the Divine as the voice of the Maker.

XXX

When all was said and done and the Conclave dismissed, Scipio Alexius Decimus took a moment to gather his thoughts before immediately heading to the meet with Cecilia Therein the Queen of Ferelden. With his Palatine Guard in tow he made his way out of the Grand Cathedral and towards the estate where the Queen and here men had been quartered.

As he approached the walled manor he saw that two knights of Cecilia's Dragonguard wearing their obsidian colored armor stood guard. Marching up he offered a Tevinter salute saying, "Hail Ser Knights I must speak with your Queen in regards to matter of great importance."

The knights turned to look at one another before one responded, "Lord Senator you were not expected."

"Nonetheless I must have audience," the Senator was firm. He had come too far and done too much to not meet her now.

"Follow us," the more senior knight intoned, "but your guard must remain outside."

"Done," the swiftness of his response surprised the knights and his Palatine Guard and set the former on edge and let the latter exchanging worried glances. With hands on their weapons the knights led him onto the antechamber of the opulent Orlesian estate. He paid no mind to the priceless tapestries or the marble statues or the magnificent indoor fountain and pool. There was only one thing that occupied his mind.

The knights stopped to inform their captain Ser Wesley who gave Decimus an interrogative glare before dismissing the original guards.

"What is it you want Tevinter?"

"That is for your Queen's ears along" Decius countered holding his ground. The two glared at each other but Decimus was not intimidated. After all he was a man who worshiped the Dragon Gods of old, trucked regularly with daemons and was a powerful magister in his own right. What did he have to fear from a mere man?

"I am the Queen's ears," the Knight growled, "and her eyes."

Decimus opened his mouth to retort then closed it as he suddenly became aware of something strange about the Captain of the Dragonguard… he was touched. Decimus reached out tentatively with his magics and sure enough there it was. It was certainly subtle; subtle enough that if he had not known exactly what to look for than he would have never been able to find it. This Ser Wesley and if Decimus had to guess all the Dragonguard had their souls… 'branded' so to speak. Their souls were marked by the Dragon God of War claiming them as her own.

"This is about Argon," the magister said simply.

The Captain of the Dragonguard was taken aback, Decimus should see that much in his eyes before they narrowed dangerously, "Is that so… if you wish to see the Queen then to the Queen you will go, but," he held his hand up in warning, "…know this if you are playing at something you will wish you were burning in the darkest daemon infested pits of the Fade."

Decimus suddenly found himself worried. What if he had miscalculated? What if Cecilia found her continued antimony was worth the murder of a Tevinter Senator? No, he shook his head, no. He had too much to offer for her to turn him away… or so he hoped. He was taken up the stairs to what he assumed would be the Master Chambers of the Manor. The knight did not hesitate opening the door and walking inside.

"There a better be a good explanation for this," a female voice growled.

The senator turned in the direction and saw Cecilia emerge from the bathing chambers her ivory skin and golden hair still wet as she wrapped a towel around her chest. When she saw the senator her brow raised ever so slightly in question. Before she could speak Decimus acted dropping to his knees so fast that Ser Wesley went for his blade.

"Dread lord Argon," he began, "Lord of War and Changer of Fates. I Scipio Alexius Decimus am your faithful servant, a servant of the old religion of my ancestors. I am High Priest of the Faithful of Dragons who as kept your worship alive across the millennia. We have long awaited the day when the true gods of the Imperium who return to us to shake off the shackled of the Maker and return our empire to glory and at long last you have come."

"Decimus…," the god in mortal flesh hissed as she waved Wesley off, "I remember that name… your family were once High Priests of my brother Dumant were you not?"

"Yes," the Senator answered still not looking upon her, "it was our hereditary position before the weak among us fell to the worship of the Maker."

The Queen-god sauntered up to him with swaying hips. She reached down and placed a finger underneath his chin and lifted until Decimus found himself staring into the icy blue void of her eyes, "Well my friend welcome back to the fold. I think we shall have much to talk about."

**Sorry this took so long. We lost a soldier this week**


	6. Chapter 5

Dragon Age: Exalted

Chapter 5: March

Word had gone out like wildfire from Val Royeaux. An Exalted March had been proclaimed against the heathens Qunari from Par Vollen. An Exalted March to be lead by the Dragon Queen of Ferelden Cecilia Therein. Each of the high lords had returned to home gather their forces and prepare for the journey to come. From their places of origin each army would travel along the ancient Imperial Highway to Krak de Chevaliers an Orlesian fortification near Neverrian bordered before heading north towards Minrathous and war. There their great host would assemble, lords and knight from many nations all unified under the Maker's Holy Sigil.

Much farther south in the Arling of the West Hills the lords and the Templars and Mages of Ferelden gathered their might. Cecilia had called her Teyrns, Arls and Banns for war. Still drunk of the victories in Antiva, Kirkwall and more recently in the Kocari Wilds they nobles had flocked to her banner eager for more glory and riches and a chance to earn eternal rewards and amnesty for the Sins in the Maker's Eyes. Like on Exalted Marches that had come before the Divine had promised remission of past sins and sins committed while on the Exalted March.

The Chantry in Ferelden had responded gathering a great many of its templar knights and footmen as well as as many mages verse in healing that they could muster. Ever since the rebellion I Kirkwall many years ago the Mages of the Circle had been actively… discouraged from embracing what some might call the destruction schools of magic. Instead they were taught to focus on skills that could be used to aid man such as the arts of restoration. Even when she had marched in Antiva and later the Wilds she had brought along with her what mages the chantry would allow and many a man was alive today because of their arts.

From atop the keep of Castle West Hill Cecilia smiled like a terrible predator scenting its prey. Soon this army would be ready to march and then Cecilia would be one step closer to that what she desired and with the help of the Tevinter far more options were available. Her plans were being accelerated but that in and of itself might not be bad for this Exalted March, this irony of ironies would put her with grasp of the weapon she needed.

The Witch of the Wilds Morrigan had done her job in drawing the very essence of the gold-killing darkspawn curse from the vile creatures and her reward for such had been to be sent screaming into the deepest pits of the Fade. The witch had been too headstrong and independent to be of any further use and had been… dealt with but not in a manner that would prevent Flemeth's daughter of being of any further use.

While the curse was a good first step it needed a way to peirce the Maker's armor who, unlike her and her brothers the Maker did not deign. He had not poured part of his divine strength into the roots of this world. He had never taken mortal form and so she must go to him deep within his realm within the Fade. Unlike her and her brothers who had used a great part of their innate power to become corporeal the Maker had never made himself flesh. His power was greater than her and any of her individual brothers… once as one all seven of the Dragon Gods would have been greater than he, but alone she was not.

She would need advantages… all she could conjure if she was to enact her revenge. One of the final pieces of her vengeance rested in Minrathous in the Temple of the Maker Divine a magnificent sprawling structure that put even the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux to shame. It had once been a temple to Dumat, his most holy of places, but now it served their most ancient foe. In the main foray held in a crystal case studded with rubies and diamonds was the most sacred artifact in all Thedas… the Sword of Mercy.

The blade which pierced the heat of the Maker's Bride… which spilt the blood of his prophet would the god's undoing. When tainted the blade would be a powerful weapon… but only if she could only get her hands upon it. With that thought… that imperative she turned headed back into the keep eager to return to bed and her husband.

XXX

Lucius Catstus rode out with a detachment of nearly a hundred heavy horse and over a dozen lesser swifter horsemen to serve as messengers. For the better part of a week and half the Qunari had been taking a part of their host up and down the river most likely looking for a place in which to cross. Every night in addition to the regular patrols Lucius had taken these two centuries of cataphracts to shadow their movements and if necessary act to hold them while the light horse went back to alert the Acheron and rally reinforcements.

So far he had not needed them. The Qunari had marched up and down the river and then returned to their billets without problem. Though Lucius considered most important to keep an eye on the Qunari scouting parties, but the General and the centurions of the cataphracts were growing impatient. Lucius feared that he would not be able to detect the Qunari if they chose to cross the river without the extra men on hand.

Still the general wished to keep the bulk of his men on hand in case the Qunari attacked the Acheron head on. Lucius doubted that the Arishok would risk his armies against what was possibly the greatest fortification in all Thedas. It would be stratagem that saw the walls of the Acheron fall not brute force.

In the distance he could hear the wildlife, the rushing of the river's waters and the gentle rumble of the Qunari cannonade fire. Ever since the heathen warriors had set up their camp they had sought to bring down the curtain walls with stone ball and fire. However like Venna and Minrathous itself the walls of the Acheron were imbued with ancient sorceries. Though the walls of the mighty castra would not fall the will of its defenders was not as strong. Already there had been 'incidents' results of frayed nerves and weary hearts. Several bloated corpses hung from gallows attested to the fate of deserters.

He watched the Acheron grow in the distance as his party approached it walls and he grimaced. From the front the mighty fortress was nigh impenetrable, but as he had noticed from the flanks the castle's walls seemed far less impressive. If the Qunari managed to cross the river how would the ancient walls fair? Would they hold against the fury of these heathens?

He saw men standing upon the curtain walls, men in lorica segmenta that caught the moonlight and reflected it into the night. The held their pila, their throwing spear, in their hands as they walked along the battlements. When the sentries saw him one raised a ram's horn to his lips and blew an alert. The others hailed them, raising their torches hail to get better look at him and his company.

"The Legate returns," the Centurion at the gate hollered, "Open the gates!"

With a groan the wood and iron the gates of the Castra Acheron groaned upon great metal hinges swung open and the centuries rode within its mighty walls. They were greeted by Tribune Valorinus one of the General's aides who greeted his comrades returns. The cavalrymen handed off their helms and dismounted their mounts handing off the reigns to the myriad of slaves that appeared to offer skins of water to the horsemen and take their horse to the stables.

"Another fruitful night aye Legate," the Tribune said mockingly as he assisted Lucius Catstus from his steed.

Lucius paid him no heed as he took up a proffered waterskin and took a deep draught of clean water. Wiping his mouth he faced the Tribune, "No change Valorinus?"

"Nah the Qunari sit across the river with their strength gaining each day but other than riding up and down the river as you know well, they do nothing," the Tribune spoke with a tired of something said many times before, "the General believes they a merely keeping us in check while their fleet seeks decisive victory. With us pinned here they can invade the coastlands near unopposed."

"And we cannot leave the Acheron any more undermanned than it already is," Lucius hissed under his breath, "and yet I feel as if this is place will the hammer stroke will fall. The Acheron must fall if the Qunari assault is to continue."

Valorinus shrugged, "How much longer the general will continue to believe that I do not know, but what is known is the aid is coming from the South."

"How so," Lucius queried.

"The Divine in Orlais has declared a Exalted March. Even as we speak a great host departs with a great host of Southern knights and foot led by Queen Cecilia of the Ferelden, I believe you have met her before," the tribune said with a coy smile.

The Legate of Horse nodded confirmed what had been said, "Years ago in a funeral tourney for the death of her father Alistair I. I met her husband in the melee and I am unashamed to say he quite thrashed me. How many men does she bring?"

"No one knows, but it said to be a great host."

"I hope they arrive in time," Lucius said with the air of omen about him as he looked towards the direction of the great river.

XXX

Charles, Prince Consort of Ferelden and Prince of Orlais fell back upon his bed exhausted and spent. Moments later his wife, the Queen, the most beautiful woman in all the world fell next to him. Reaching out he pulled his lovely wife to his side bending to kiss her golden hair as she curled next to him. In a manner remind Charles of a sleepy puppy she lifted her head and rested in on his chest.

"From what I heard we should be able to depart in two, perhaps three days' time," the prince said as he wrapped an arm around his love's waist.

As commander of the Queen's armies his was his duty to see everything ready. He had spent the last week inspecting the armies as they arrived. He had been impressed with the improvements to the Bann's levies in the near seven years since he had arrived in Ferelden. Her armies were surely the equal if not superior to that of his Mother and brother's in Orlais. He knew that Cecilia had spent fortunes on her armies and given a fortune in remits in taxes to those nobles who would use the funds to improve their own.

In his mind he went over what was to happen in the coming months. He thought over what he knew of the Imperium, Qunari and the lands they would soon be fighting over. He knew the Qunari were an implacable foe and this would be harder than anything Cecilia had attempted this far. He only hoped she was ready for the trials to come.

"What is on your mind my love," Cecilia said softly.

"Many things," the prince admitted, "Mostly about the war to come."

"Have no fear," Cecilia said as she planted kisses on his stomach, "I will deal them."

Charles frowned monetarily attempting to ignore what his wife was doing to him, "You do not know the Qunari. You have not fought them as I have. They are not to be underestimated or taken lightly."

The Queen paused mid kiss. She glanced up at him and Charles could see the annoyance in those icy orbs of hers. She rolled her eyes before sliding a long pale leg over his chest and the rose so she was straddling him. Charles closed his eyes at the sensation as she ran her nails across the expanse of his chest and he groaned as he felt her rub up against him.

"Again?"

Looking more like a predator then a woman she bent down to capture his lips. He felt her kisses and licks trail down from his lip to neck where she latched on to his pulsing vein and bit hard, but not too hard to cause any real pain. When she broke he hissed at the loss and opened his mouth to complain but was silenced her lips.

"Leave everything to me my love," she breathed between kisses. She pulled back raising up and tossing her hair back and raised herself up and grinned wickedly, "but for the moment we have more important things at hand."

And Charles couldn't agree more.

XXX

It was called Krak de Chevaliers. It was the hereditary fortress of the Duke Kasper of Lorraine the High Constable of Orlais and second most powerful man in the empire. The fortress was one the largest in all the world whose foundations had been laid down by the Saint-Emperor himself in ages past. To call it a mere castle or fortress was a great disservice for it was far more than that. Krak de Chevalier was a work of art completed with a ornate Cathedral built at its heart said to contain the bones of the Saint-Emperor himself. The castle's walls had been raised in the shape of a star with its five pointes extending out from the base it provided an excellent field of fire for bowmen, ballista and trebuchets.

Centuries had gone into its construction built by with hands and blood of thousands of prisoners captured in Orlais's many wars with its neighbors as its hegemony over Southern Thedas was solidified. It high walls were have said to have been mortared with blood instead of clay and it was said that under the light of a full moon that ghastly shapes of men and elves could still be seen to labor upon the ramparts were they died. And yet for it woes it was beautiful and more to the point nigh impregnable to hall but the greatest of host and even then they would surely water the walls with coats of fresh blood and add more ghosts to tend the walls.

It was a fitting place for the High Constable of Orlais and a fitting place to assemble the forces of Orlais and the Templars of the Chantry in Orlais as they readied themselves for the Exalted March, Scipio Alexius Decimus though as he sat upon the high bench just below the Duke and his Duchess.

"This is a most excellent vintage my dear Duke," Decmius said raising his crystalline wineglass to toast Duke Kasper, "And what a magnificent display."

The Duke of Lorraine was a powerfully built man though well into his fiftieth year. His grey hair was thing on top and he possessed a neatly manicured goatee of the same color cover his weather beaten face and scars of battle. He possessed arms wide enough and his hands large enough to choke the life from any man he chose. He wore a fine doublet made of the finest materials and from his neck a chain hung a jeweled diamond sunburst. The Duke had a reputation as a fearsome warrior and tactician as well as a pious man; a man as they said after the Maker's own heart. He had founded many monasteries and priories during his reign and Duke of Lorraine and High Constable of Orlias and counted many priest and clerics among his retinue.

His wife, the Duchess Lorraine was said to be even more so… a woman who had been brought out of the Chantry after her elder siblings had died in order to fulfill the marriage contract between the Duchy of Lorraine and the County of Lombar. As such she was rumored to be even more pious than her lord husband.

A most terrible thing, Decimus thought, to have a Sister of the Chantry in ones bed, what a bore that must be. And it was a wonder that the duke even managed one heir with such a cold wife. He himself had married once to a pretty woman from a house in desperate need of alliance. She had been a lithe thing and eager to please and on the occasion in which she did not suit there were always slaves to fulfill his needs and wants.

Below on the field a knight in lily white livery unhorsed a crimson knight with a par of crouching Lions upon his coat. These rambunctious and vainglorious men, these chevaliers were the pride of Orlais, the flower of Southern chivalry. The victorious knight raised his shattered lance in triumph while the fallen knight struggled to pull himself up from the dirt. In the style of these Southern lands, as Decimus understood it, to the knight who unhorsed another went the loser armor and warhorse, to be kept as spoils, to be ransomed back to their owner or if the knight was particularly chivalrous to be gifted back to the vanquished.

"Though your Grace I have to wonder it is the best time to hold a tourney when we are preparing for a war," Decimus inquired from his seat in the below the Duke and Duchess.

Below them on the tourney field a second pair of chevaliers titled. One man wore a surcoat of yellow and black while the other green and white. They charged together and the green-white knight scored a hit on the shield of the other shattering the lance while the other's skidded off without breaking. A point to the green-white knight.

"Due to current events within the empire I am currently unable to muster the level of manpower I should. The tourney is a partial solution… a way to attract chevaliers from all over Orlais regardless of their banner," the Duke said sourly and Decimus could hear the disappointment in the man's gruff voice, "The other lords will not love me for whisking away their knights but it was a price I shall gladly bear in the suffrage for the Mother Chantry."

Decimus could understand his pain if he did not share. Orlais the champion of Andraste could not muster the men to defend the Mother Chantry from the evils that threatened her. It was a shrewd political move and Decimus approved. The High Constable's tourney would certainly attract the cream of the knightly class and if they so happened to be caught up in the Marching fervor then so much the better for Duke Kasper, Queen Cecilia and the whole Exalted March. The Qunari were not stupid and were numerous bastards. Every sword they could muster would be needed to drive the heathen back into the sea.

The last word he had received was that the Imperious Fleet had suffered a debilitating defeat and the Qunari were upon the banks of the Styx itself. If the Acheron fell… what would happen? Surely there was no formation between that could keep the Qunari from marching on Minrathous. Would that most glorious and Ancient City be put to siege… it was a thought Decimus could not easily bear.

XXX

Ser Wesley the captain of the Dragonguard stalked through the corridors of Castle West Hills like a wolf searching for prey. Once more he went over the watch set to make sure they the South Wing of the Castle, and therefore the Queen's chamber, was secure. Even though the Arl of West Hills was amongst the most loyal of men in the realm it never hurt to be careful for that is what his position entailed. For Cecilia despite all strength and cunning was not all powerful, at least not yet, the knight thought with a wolfish smile.

Before the old wizard from the Wilds had been executed he had asked why the knight served the Queen especially if he knew what she was. His answer was simple Cecilia would make the Maker pay. Ser Wesley was no priest or mage nor was he a man of the sciences. He was a warrior trained from birth. He did not truly know what would happen when his Queen completed her plans, but what he did know is that the Maker would suffer and perhaps even die… if gods can truly die.

That was enough for him. Like all men born in the lands of the Chantry he had been raised under the Faith, he had said his confessions and attended mass all in the name of a god two didn't give two figs… for how could he if he allowed such horrors like the darksapwn loose upon the land. Like all he had be taught that the 'spawn were the result of the sinful actions of mages, but why punish all for the actions of so few. Why unleash a plague upon all life if he truly cared for his children.

Ser Wesley had renounced faith in the Maker in his hearts of hearts the moment he saw his baby sister and father devoured by darkspawn and his mother carried off… he had learned only much later what happened to women taken by those horrid creatures. Creatures that were created by the Maker as punish for a sin committed ages ago. In Cecilia, in his Queen, his liege lord he had a chance to strike back at a god and come hell or high-water he would not allow such an opportunity to slip through his grasp. He would make a god bleed or at the very least help and when he went screaming into hell at least he'd have that cold comfort.

In secret ceremony he had swore his sword and soul to his Queen, his god. He had been among the first in the Sovereign's Own to swear such an oath and had been rewarded with captaincy of the Dragonguard. He had bartered away his soul for a promise of revenge. With that on mind the Captain of the Dragonguard set about his duty once more his gloved hand flexing around the pommel of his sword.

"Ser Knight," a soft gentle voice called out from behind him.

The Dragonguard spun his blade clearing its sheath before he saw the source of his alarm.

"Your highness," he hissed sheathing his sword… how in the hells did the child sneak up on him? Had he really been that lost in thought? "You should be a sleep."

Prince Calenhad, son of Cecilia and Charles looked at him with those far too old eyes. Surely it would have been absurd looking, a five year old boy staring down a thirty year old veteran knight who had sold his soul to dark powers. Even more absurd was that fact that it was the knight and not the boy who wilted. The boy frightened him.

Her majesty had often said he was 'necessary' but what that meant he did not know. What he did know was that the Queen, the mortal avatar of the God of War grew distant and soft eyed when she said it, as if she would regret what was 'necessary.'

"I was thirsty," the Prince finally said.

"Where is your governess?"

"Asleep," came the clipped reply.

A burst of annoyance filtered through him. The heir presumptive to the throne of Ferelden should not be allowed to wonder the halls of the Palace at Denerium without escort, let alone the halls of another lord's castle. He would have to speak with the prince's caregiver and she had better pray he didn't feel the need to bring this before the Queen otherwise said governess would likely be spending a fair amount time in a private room in Castle Darkon… or of the Queen was in a particularly vile mood, the Peak.

"Well highness lets go get that drink before I have a talk with this governess of yours," Ser Wesley offered holding out his hand that the young prince took.

XXX

When the sun rose the Army of Ferelden was making ready to break its encampments and preparing for the first leg of their journey. The army made busy gathering last minute supplies and other quandaries they might require. Squires ran about fetching things for their lords and knights while the foot stuffed food and bedding into their packs. Their captains made their own preparations as they conferred with one another and the great lords who commanded the hosts.

The Queen should have been down there with them; speaking with her lords and captains and preparing for the march be. There were still details that needed her attention, but before could do what she must she had a few things to take care of first. Those 'things' were a rather petrified looking matron and nurses trembling before her. An elder lady of minor nobility whose own family had long since passed the matron had been hired to serve as governess to the young prince.

The part of the Queen's mind that was inflamed with raged wonder what the women found more terrifying. Her uncle, the Regent's flame colored face and barely restrained rage, her own icy glare and frigid tone or the battle-arrayed knights of the Dragonguard complete with their screaming dragon helms.

"So lady Darren," the Queen began once more in cold clipped tones, "would you care to explain why the captain of my knights found my son wandering the halls of the castle alone and without escort. One might assume that you did not care much for the honor and trust my Uncle," she said with a flick of her hand towards Teyrn Cousland, "bestowed upon you. One might even say it was criminal negligence in regards to the well-being of the royal-prince."

"Maj-" the woman stuttered.

"Hold your tongue," the Teyrn of Highever bellowed thunderously.

The silence Cecilia allowed to ferment was in way surely more frightening than the Teyrn's rage. When the Queen finally did speak it was in far more acidic tone, "Now get from my sight and if another word of misconduct reaches my ears I will have you strung by your entrails from the highest towers of Castle Drakon."

The women peeped in terror at Cecilia venomous words and swiftly took flight. The Queen watched the women go with barely concealed distaste before turning back to the matters at hand. She had had vast host to contend with and an errant nursemaid was the last thing she needed to have concern about. Her son needed to be protected until he grew into hi might and then until he had served his great purpose. In time he would be a King and rule but that time was not now; not yet.

He needed to be protected until the hour came. Only then could he fulfill the purpose he was born for.

XXX

Alone in the chambers provided to him by the Lord High Constable of Orlais the Senator from Tevinter sat before the burning fireplace drinking a glass of fine wine imported from the Imperium. He watched the dancing fires in the hearth thinking over the most recent events that had occurred in Val Royueax with the mortal form of the god he had worshiped for so long.

For ages his House had kept the Old Olds when most had turned near all had turned their backs upon them. His father had taught him as had his father before him the secrets of magic first taught to man by the Old Gods in the elder days when the Imperium was young, before Andraste arose in the South and the might of the Empire was sundered by the malevolence that brought the First Blight upon the mortal world. The Old Gods, the Dragon Gods of the Empire were only ones worthy of worship, they had given his ancestors strength and power not wisps of promises. They had made the Imperium and its Magisters great and so to would Agron gift him with great power in return for his service

_The senator sat across from the armored form of the dragon god made flesh. He watched the Queen of Ferelden an she watched him, her eyes focused on him like a wolf… or more aptly a dragon deciding whether or not to devour its prey. He had spent the past two hours explaining the situation in Tevinter to the Queen, both military, politically and the state of those cults loyal to the Dragon Gods. Over the hour Queen had sat silently absorbing all of this information and when he had finally finished she spoke._

"_This is all most intriguing lord senator," she said softly, her eyes were narrowed deep in thought even as she spoke, "and it will fit most perfectly with what I plan." She leaned forward to place her elbows upon her knees, "You will return to Tevinter to serve my interest in the Senate…though of course not openly. For when you leave this place we must not be seen together except on the business of the March."_

"_Of course majesty of course and what do you wish me to pursue when I return to the Senate?"_

"_Take all the credit for this endeavor for yourself," she said surprising him, "for when this war ends I intend to leave you Princeps of Tevinter... I intend to make you a hero."_

"_Princeps," he breathed. The exalted rank of Princeps was one bestowed upon a man in only the most dire of circumstances when the Imperium faced its greatest threats. It gave the man unlimited power in Tevinter even above archons, the senate and the assembly. For as long as he lived his word would be law in the Imperium, "but how… I am not so loved in the Senate. A man as old as me has made many, many enemies in my career. And for a thousand years there have not been a Princeps in the Imperium not even in the last war against the Qunari."_

"_We must not make sure that this war ends too quickly," she stated with a unsettling grin, "it must drag on so that victory is uncertain and therefore our victory, for which you by virtue of calling for this March will be responsible for, will seem all the grander. For which you will receive the exalted rank of Princeps and me the Sword of Mercy."_

_Once more the Senator found himself taken back, "A Sword of Mercy?"_

_The Sword of Mercy and the Triumph that went with it was the greatest award the Imperium could award to a conquering general. At the end of the grand procession through Minrathous the general would be presented with a replica of the Sword of Mercy, the blade that pierced Andraste's heart, the most scared relic in the entire world to those who followed the Maker. Possession of such a sword meant the senate would rise to attention when the conqueror general entered, all men were required to salute them in the streets and they were guaranteed a position as honorable censor when they reached the proper age. _

"_No lord senator, not a Sword of Mercy… thee Sword of Mercy," a cruel terrible smile touched her lips and her eyes gleamed in the night, "To kill a god we must have the proper tools my lord senator and what better tool than the blade that took his bride."_

XXX

And so it was that the great host of Ferelden departed their lands for the third time in five years. Ranks of knights and mounted men-at-arms were followed by infantrymen and bowmen in long winding columns with great trains of baggage following behind being drawn by draught horse and oxen. At the core of this host in splendid sable armor marched or rode the Knight's and footmen of the Dragonguard each emblazoned with her crimson dragon . It was a mighty force, greater than the one led south into the Wilds and greater than the one led north across the Waking Sea.

From the host rose many marching songs of the type lowborn soldiery were oft to sing to improve their moods on long marches. They would pass through the Hot Gates of the West Hills and follow the Imperial Highway north through the breast of Orlais collecting the forces of Duke Kasper at his great fortress of Krak de Chevaliers before continuing to collect the forces of the Free Marches and the Lords of Neverra. From there they would cross into the in the _Regime Ancien, _the realm of Tevinter in all in ancient glory and power.

They would unite with the legions and the Warden's at Minrathous. Once all the power of the Faithful was assembled in glory they would march and against the heathen and see them cast into utter ruin… or so the Divine had degreed. Cecilia knew better. The battles fought would be long and hard and many men and women would die never seeing home again.

With her husband, her lords, her captains and her standard bearers around her the host marched forward through the gates they marked the boundary of the Kingdom of Ferelden. They were a truly grand sight to behold and were only to grow grander as their numbers grew with the swelling of the faithful from other nations.

Once more Ferelden was going to war and with it the might of South. They went forth with the blessing of the Maker's Chantry to wage war upon the heathen who invaded the lands of the ancient Imperium. As she led her host Cecilia felt her lips tug in a small slight smile. So here it was that she the Old God of War went to war at the request of the Divine of the Chantry of the Andraste and the Maker.

What delicious irony.

_I just got back to KAF (Kandahar Airfield) from a tiny little FOB (Forward Operating Base) where they had no internet._

_Yes the Arishok is sten from the first game. No, Cecilia won't get involved with Decimus… and yes Decimus is supposed to be somewhat creepy. He is a High Priest to the Old Gods and sacrifices people to demons._

_Also some might think Cecilia's numbers about the troops she can muster is high, but remember that it includes knights and men-at-arms from her new holdings in Antiva and troops which has been raised from the local population. Which as some may point out might make their loyalty… questionable. _

_Also I'd like to thank Generic Drug for his message and in response to his questions…_

_From my understanding of the Lore mages weren't allowed to fight in armies in 'secular' wars between Andrastian Nations, but only in external wars like the ones against the Qunari or the darkspawn or at least that is how I interpreted it. Mages in my story will be used in small numbers in the Exalted March. Most Southern Mages will be healers while the 'fighter' will come from Tevinter. Somewhat explained above._

_I used the official map for the locations of the countries but most of the places, cities and features I made up to suit the needs for my story. For example Acheron the name of the main tevinter fortress is named after one of the river's in Hades in greek Mythology. Several other are based on real cities i.g. Venna is Ravenna etc, etc. _

_I __actually forgot about the Dalish Promise, it was overlooked in my notes. In hindsight I will say that some of the lands in the wilds went to the dales, some may even be some of the newly minted banns. _

_The numbers of the non-Ferelden ruled troops is about 40,000 combined… assuming they all show up._

_Thanks for the reviews._

_From Afghanistan signing off_


End file.
